


To Marry A King

by geniusincombatboots



Series: The Horse and The Swan [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Engagement, F/M, Long-Distance Relationship, Winning over in-laws, Writer continues to fudge source details, courting, eventual wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 40,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23709241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniusincombatboots/pseuds/geniusincombatboots
Summary: After the War of the Ring, Eomer King and Princess Lothiriel have to face the imminent dangers of courtship, and winning her family members to their cause. Though they both must keep their alliance to each other through everything, even through betrothal.
Relationships: Éomer Éadig/Lothíriel
Series: The Horse and The Swan [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707502
Comments: 31
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

Lothiriel plucked her lute absently looking out over the plains for the men to return. She silently prayed to Elbereth for Eomer’s safe return, feeling a little foolish in hoping for one man when so many had ridden out. The entire war could be brought to its end and she knew that people died in war. She had played at being a stupid girl so long, she wondered if perhaps she had become one in truth, for every thought that came through her head felt idiotic. She felt the deluge every anxiety risk breaking the dam of her good sense.

Her fingers stopped as she thought she saw a cloud of dust on the horizon.

“Lothiriel?” her Aunt Ivriniel chided gently, meaning her to pick up her playing to keep the lady’s minds occupied as they worked on their sewing projects.

Lothiriel did not answer and she stood, pressing close to the window.

“What is it?” Princess Ivriniel asked, setting down the fine silk she was stitching her brow furrowed.

“The armies have returned,” Lothiriel said as soon as she could make out the standards of the Kingdoms of men on the sky, her face breaking out in a smile, her hand clasped over her heart. She was vaguely aware of the ladies crowding the large window around her. She turned without thought and hurried from the sitting room and down to the doors of the citadel. The men rode into the courtyard. She scanned the faces of the men, thanking the Valar for each familiar face.

When her eyes found Eomer’s face in the crowd, she felt so much lighter suddenly. Her hand flattened against her heartbeat. He was alright, and riding, and seemed completely unharmed. His handsome face shining with victory, and survival as he helped Master Merriadoc down from Firefoot's back.

The ladies of the court were behind her in a flurry of silk and perfume. This was not normally what would be done, but no one seemed to care. Wives embraced husbands and sisters found brothers and Lothiriel was reminded that this was what she should be doing, rather than staring across the sea of faces to those bright brown eyes that smiled back at her.

“Lothiriel!” Erchirion called out, his face shining under the dust as he bowed sardonically before embracing her.

“Victory, then?” she asked, grinning.

“The Dark Lord is vanquished,” Elphir called out, “Our lands are free!”

Lothiriel felt tears of joy springing to her eyes, “Then it is truly over?”

Eomer hung back, but sent her another bright smile, his eyes shining in the afternoon sun, before returning to his men.

The whole city gave itself over to joy and celebration, and in the Merethrond Hall of Feasts was full of music and laughter.

Princess Lothiriel wore a dress the silver grey common in Minas Tirith, with an underdress the pale blue of her house with a swan stitched in silver thread. The dress hung at the rounded shape of her shoulders, and she had been careful in the lacing of the dress that the marks on her back would not show. She had ordered Anthel to do her hair simply, a few thick braids twisted in an updo at the back of her head, explaining that she wanted to draw attention to her diadem set in the dark of her hair, or the heavy pearls at her throat.

The feast was formal, even as few seemed to act as if it was, it was function of state, honoring the victory of the Armies of Middle Earth against the Dark Lord Sauron.

As Princess of Dol Amroth, she was among the highest ranking among the ladies present, and as such was presented early, which she had always considered a gift as she could go and get to the wine before anyone could stop her.

“You look radiant, my lady cousin,” Faramir smiled, offering her a goblet.

“Should you be walking yet, my lord cousin?” Lothiriel asked in turn.

“Likely not, but I would not miss this for the world,” Faramir looked downright whimsical as he leaned on a walking stick.

“How has Lady Eowyn been faring?” she asked, coy.

“Quite well, she is here somewhere,” Faramir said as if he was not interested in the least, even as his eyes found her immediately in the room. He looked back at Lothiriel’s face, and rolled his eyes, “Perhaps we should form a strong alliance with our houses and Rohan,” he said easily.

“I am sure I do not know what you mean.”

“Of course not. How is the King of Rohan?”

“Flush with victory, I’m sure,” Lothiriel took a drink of wine.

“Is that the only thing he is flush with, I wonder?”

“Since when do you heed gossip, cousin?”

“I have heard no gossip, though if this court is to live in peace, I dare say there will be more gossip than we can handle,” Faramir smiled at her, “I am only aware of Lord Eomer’s attentions toward you because I am not blind or deaf.”

“Now the real battle must start,” she grumbled, “I will be up to my neck in suitors soon enough.”

“Why not simply accept an offer from him outright?”

Lothiriel cast a disinterested eye about to ensure no eavesdroppers, “Because I am a princess and that is not how it is done unfortunately. My father is keen to make a show of it all.”

“Then we will have to prepare the King to be a showman.”

“First we will have to figure out how to convince my lord father to leave poor Aragorn alone,” Lothiriel smirked.

Faramir nodded slowly, “I think my lord uncle is coming to recognize that as a losing battle, and will soon withdraw from that field. I will speak with your brothers.”

“I do not know that they would be much help.”

“Does Eomer hunt?” Faramir asked after a moment, and she could see him moving pieces on the board of his mind.

“Yes, as far as I know.”

“Then we shall arrange a hunt, and say it is for the entertainment of out lorded allies.”

“Not a bad idea,” Lothiriel admitted, “It might actually work.”

“We never knew that I might be Steward, but I know that I will only serve this station well because we have a King again,” Faramir smiled, as if only mildly offended by the idea that his ideas might not be by large good, “And until we convince your father, do you think you could turn down suitors?”

It was a joke, she knew, but her face still darkened a little. The War would have left in its wake fewer acceptable options for marriage, she tried to turn her mind from such dark thoughts, “May the Valar help him if my brothers decide to make sport of him.”

“Valar help your brothers. He may yet throw Amrothos in the river,” Faramir laughed.

“Before this is over, I would not doubt it,” Lothiriel smiled looking about the Hall for Eomer and finally found him listening to some story from one of her father’s men.

“Do you have any doubt about him?” Faramir asked.

“No,” she smiled, feeling the truth of the words.

“Good, then, with luck this will be easy.”

“And if luck is not with us?”

Faramir let out a breath, “Then it may not be easy, but he seems a steadfast sort. If I judge him rightly, he will not leave the field without victory, or if you bid him to give up his claim.”

“Claim? You make me sound as a plot of land.”

“That is not my intention, cousin. Perhaps it was the wrong choice of words,” Faramir frowned, “I mean only to speak of your heart.”

She felt a little uncomfortable.

“I should warn you that soldiers gossip more than anyone,” Faramir said.

“I know this, but what do you mean to tell me?” She was a little too quick in her tone, but she was suddenly grasped by fear. Had she been seen entering or leaving Eomer’s tent? She kept her face as blank as she if she had no secret to discover.

“Only that you seem to improve his mood. Though I should warn further that you seem almost a legend to them, though they speak only in fearful whispers.”

“Why?”

“They fear their king hearing them speak of the foreign princess that made him dance,” Faramir smirked at her, “How did you manage it?”

“I told him that I would dance, and that if he would not dance with me, I would find another partner,” she said simply.

Faramir shook his head, “And I am sure you gave him the eyes.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she smirked back at him.

“Of course not. You have not conception of how to make men do what you want them to,” Faramir laughed.

“You make me sound terribly treacherous,” she finished her wine and refilled it from a pitcher.

“Not I am simply surprised by its effectiveness.”


	2. Chapter 2

Lothiriel danced with what felt like every single lord and merchant in the city as her father continued to make introductions and after only two hours, she was exhausted.

She moved out onto the balcony for the fresh air, as well as to hide from her father’s ambitions. She leaned back against the wall out of sight.

“Will you not dance with me then, your highness?” Eomer asked offering her a goblet of wine.

“I do not think my feet could take it at present,” she admitted, slipping her feet out of the mules hidden under her skirts, savoring the feel of the chilled stone ground under her poor toes, “and besides you made me promise to never force you to dance again.”

“I might be persuaded, if the partner was right,” he allowed, “though you dance more gracefully than I.”

“Years of practice, nothing more.”

Eomer nodded thoughtfully, taking in the sounds of revelry in the night air.

“I think my cousin means to court Eowyn,” she said, finally.

“He seems a good man,” Eomer replied, “I would not be opposed to such a union.”

She looked at him carefully, “Have you been enjoying yourself?”

“Overall, yes,” Eomer allowed, “But I must say your brothers are… interesting.”

“How so?”

“I believe they think my as inebriated as they are. They continue to call each other by the wrong names.”

“They are not identical…” Lothiriel said, confused.

“I believe they have been at the wine,” Eomer smiled, “I have been doing my best to play along, and they think they are very clever.”

“Why?” Lothiriel smiled.

“I want your family to like me,” he said, as if it was obvious.

She smiled, slipping her feet back in her shoes before standing high on her toes as she could manage, and tugged him down by his tunic front with her free hand and kissed him. When she pulled back, he was smiling at her. She saw Erchirion starting wide-eyed over Eomer’s shoulder.

“Brother,” she raised her brow, cracking her knuckles.

Erchirion held his hand out, “Now, sister, I have not seen anyone entangled in an embrace, and I will say so if asked.”

“You’d better, or I’ll tell father that you are the one that set the stables on fire, caused by a failed drunken tryst.”

Her brother paled then blushed, “He’s looking for you anyhow. He wants to introduce you to the son of… some lord from some place, I cannot remember.”

Lothiriel fought the urge to roll her eyes, “I have already forgotten the names of half of the men I have met tonight,” she grumbled as her brother hurried away.

“Will he keep quiet?” Eomer asked.

“Probably,” she shrugged, “I have beat him before and he knows I can do it again,” she smiled, stroking his cheek, “I have to get back.”

“One more for courage, then,” his hand found her waist and pulled her in to kiss her again, sending fire through her blood.

0x0x0

Eomer stood by Lord Faramir, refilling his goblet as the Steward settled into a chair.

“I feel like an old man,” Lord Faramir joked.

“You will be back to yourself in time,” Eomer assured him, pulling a few cakes on a plate when a small noise from under the tablecloth caught his attention, a pair of low whispering voices. They were voices, not the sound of some mouse or other rodent. He smirked, setting the plate on the floor and shifting it under the table.

Lord Faramir watched him, confused, “What are you doing?”

Eomer pressed a finger to his lips, “I think there are spies at work.”

There was a small psst sound from behind the tablecloth, and a pair of small honey-blonde children stared up at him from their hiding place.

“Thank you,” they whispered.

Faramir tried not to laugh, “Does your father know you aren’t in bed?” he asked in a low voice once they were hidden again.

“Don’t tell!” squeaked out a little girl’s voice.

“Elphir’s children,” Faramir explained, smiling.

“Well, if your highnesses want more food, push the plate back out,” Eomer said, filling a goblet with water before passing it under the table to them.

The plate came back out a few minutes later and Eomer repeated his service.

“You need not indulge them,” Lord Faramir said, smiling at him.

“They are children, and as such are to be spoiled, insofar as is appropriate. In my opinion, filling them with sweets on a feast day is completely appropriate,” he thought a moment, "Will they be in trouble if they are caught? I only now noticed you do not seem to have children at your celebrations.”

“Their parents will not be upset,” Lord Faramir confided in a low tone, “Besides, the hellions that those siblings were, Elphir has no place to judge something so small and simple.”

“The brothers?”

“Yes, but Lothiriel was the worst of them. She used to hope her father found out about whatever trouble she got into first, because he would scream at her, but she would look contrite and stare at him with wide eyes and dimples and get out of trouble.”

“And if Imrahil did not find out first?”

“If her governess found her out, it was… unpleasant. She had her own governess because she had her own household within the palace of Dol Amroth.”

“How unpleasant?” Eomer asked.

Lord Faramir thought a moment, drinking his wine, as he debated how to phrase his thoughts, “I have heard that in the Battle of the Hornburg, the women and children hid in the caves.”

“Yes.”

“Has… Lothiriel mentioned that she does not like small places, or underground places?” Lord Faramir asked.

“Not in so many words.”

“It takes a lot of her self-control not to panic. Lothiriel once had the idea that she ought to steal some meat pies, or bread or something small like that in case she got hungry in the middle of the night. She could not have been more than five or six. And it wasn’t stealing really, because the cook always let her take things, but let Lothiriel think she was sneaky.”

“That all sounds rather normal,” Eomer said, remembering doing the same thing. He was giving children small cakes now it was so normal a thing.

“Does it not? Well, Lady Neithariel thought the infraction warranted a caning.”

“Caning?”

“She had a reed cane about this long,” Lord Faramir held his hands roughly three feet apart, “On one occasion, Lothiriel tried to fight her, and she got her teeth into that lady's arm I think, so Neithariel locked her in a cupboard for two days.”

“You cannot be serious.”

Lord Faramir took another long drink of wine nodding.

“What did Prince Imrahil do?”

“Honestly, I doubt he knows it happened, or how cruel that woman was.”

“How could he not know what was happening with his own children?”

“Because people do not listen to children over adults, but in my opinion, the Prince had done this best, but even though out fathers were not brothers by blood, neither seemed to be able to recover from the loss of their wives.”

“And yet they would have their wives forever bound in their places?”

“No man is perfect,” Lord Faramir nodded, to the floor, where the plate had slid back out, “You have been summoned.”

Eomer stooped to pick up the plate, not bothering to fight the smile. He liked children and envied them their carelessness. The sweet simplicity of innocence was to his mind the most precious thing in the world. Her refilled the plate and accepted another quick thank you before he asked, “Do you need more water?”

The cup came out empty and her refilled it before passing it back, wondering if they would be his niece and his nephew one day, if his own children would look like them, and he knew it was a foolish thing to think about in such fixed terms, but he wanted to imagine his life with Lothiriel. This felt different, and he felt happy with her by his side. His sister had teased him that his mind had been clouded by celibacy, but he knew she liked Lothiriel.

Eowyn enjoyed little as much as she liked telling him off, but she seemed to honestly want his affection for Lothiriel to grow into something more, if only the fact that Lothiriel seemed willing to challenge him, rather than simply giggling and leaning close. When she laughed, it was earnest, not a courtier’s trick.

“Are you attempting to buy their affections?” Lord Faramir asked.

“No,” Eomer knew this man’s light teasing well enough to hear Lothiriel a little in it, and she wondered if that was the way of their family, or the South in general.

“Good, for they are fickle allies,” Faramir smiled at the table again.

Eomer’s eyes picked out Lothiriel easily among the dancers on the floor where she was pretending to find something amusing from a young lord who looked to be trying too hard. She spun out from her partner, the hem of her skirts rippling through the air as she moved. Her eyes closed for a moment as she lost herself to the joy of it.

The plate skittered back out again, drawing Eomer’s eyes from the princess and he smiled a moment as he turned to see Lord Elphir staring at the plate with a confused smile.

Lord Elphir held a hand out at the level of his hips, indicating the height of his children.

Eomer nodded a little guiltily.

The Lord smirked, touching his wife’s arm and said something to her before coming over, “My Lord King, did you hear that?” Lord Elphir asked in mock concern, “I do hope there are not any little mice under here,” he pulled the tablecloth up quickly, and his children screamed. Elphir smirked, “Alright, you two, out from under there.”

Alphros, the son looked perhaps six, and Mithriel was maybe four. They stood there in slippers and dressing robes trying to look contrite through their smiles.

“We wanted to see the pretty ladies,” Mithriel said in a small voice.

“You said we could watch as long as we were out of the way,” Alphros offered, lisping a little around a loose tooth.

“And as long as you were in bed on time,” Lord Elphir pointed out, sternly, looking between his children, “And whose idea was this now?” he squinted between them again, before touching a fingertip to his daughter’s nose, “Was it you?”

She giggled.

“Alright,” Lord Elphir clapped his hands, “Go give your mother a kiss, and then to bed with the both of you.”

“Thank you, Big Man!” Mithriel called over her shoulder.

“Your children as sweet,” Eomer commented.

“Well, you did give them cake, so they will love you forever,” Lord Elphir smirked, picking up the plate from the floor.

“Do you ever miss being so carefree?” Eomer asked, watching the children climb into their mother’s lap, carefully prolonging their time awake.

“Every day,” Lord Elphir admitted, refilling their goblets with wine, before refilling Lord Faramir’s, “Though the ability to just take sweets rather than sneak them is a benefit.”

“As if Echaddis would not have just given them you?” Lord Faramir asked.

“I am the eldest,” Lord Elphir said, insulted, “Amrothos and Lothiriel owe much to my skills as a kitchen bandit.”

Lord Faramir rolled his eyes at the false bravado.

“Thank you for being kind to them,” Elphir said suddenly to Eomer, “I always thought the Horse Lords were some joyless scary folk. Neithariel always told us that if we did not behave, the Horse Lords would steal us away and eat us.”

Eomer raised a brow, “Did she not have any redeeming quality?”

“Ah, our dear lord cousin has been telling you of my sister’s childhood tormentor? Lothiriel would not have spoken of her.” Lord Elphir shot Lord Faramir a look before going on, “Oh, she was a beast of a woman, but she was fair to look upon. She had one of the of the best figures I have ever seen,” he laughed a moment before falling silent, “Don’t tell Gadrien.”

“Tell your wife what?” Lothiriel asked, smiling.

Lord Elphir choked on a mouthful of wine, startled.

“He was commenting on a lady’s charms,” Eomer replied easily.

“Oh, the red brocade dress?” Lothiriel asked, accepting a goblet of wine from Lord Elphir, “I’d wager she might fall out of her dress, were her stays not so tight.”

“Aw, is my little sister jealous?” Lord Elphir teased her.

She swatted his arm, blushing, “Hold your drunk tongue.”

“I apologize,” Lord Elphir laughed, looking as if he meant to say something but caught sight of his sister’s face and his tongue stayed in his mouth.

“Daughter,” Prince Imrahil called, approaching, “May I borrow you for just a moment?”

“My lord father, must I? I think I will already need to ice my feet,” Lothiriel said in a low voice through a smile.

“I had asked her highness if she might not take the air with me,” Eomer smiled as politely as possible. "She was some rather interesting ideas on improving trade routes, now that peace has come.”

Prince Imrahil looked taken aback but could not outright deny the request. The best he could manage was to say, “Oh, have you been bothering His Majesty with your ideas?”

“I am pleased by any idea to improve our lands.”

Before their father could say anything further, Lord Elphir interrupted him, “Children, say goodnight to your grandfather,” he called to his children, gesturing to Lothiriel to run while she could. Lothiriel mouthed her thanks before snatching a pitcher of wine and ran out onto the veranda. It was no longer empty, people spilling out into the fresh air.

“I swear, my father’s mind is a ledger for every unmarried member of nobility or gentry,” she laughed.

“How many do you think will try to offer themselves as suitors, your highness?” Eomer asked, refilling his goblet.

“Well, there are at least fifteen that seem genuinely interested,” she said, “but who will know until they start queueing up.”

“When would that start?”

“Honestly? Day after tomorrow would be my guess,” she swirled the wine in her cup, thinking.

“Perhaps I should have better monopolized her time,” Eomer said ruefully.

“That would have led to far too much gossip.”

“I care not,” his hand was next to hers on the bannister, the side of his hand brushing hers.

“Are you jealous, my lord?” she asked, mostly teasing.

“No.”

“Not at all?” she asked a little disappointed.

“I know you, and as I said, I want you to make whatever choice is best for you,” Eomer was looking at her in that earnest way again, “Even if that might exclude me.”

He meant it, even as she knew he did, she wondered how he would come out if she rejected him after all that they had been through. Would he stand strong if she broke his heart? She knew he was in love with her, and she thought that she was likely in love with him in return.

“I pray it does not,” she returned.

“Would your father- “

“I find that I care less and less what he would find best for me.”

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Freedom. I want to be free to be who I am without fear of rejection. My whole life people have wanted me to change myself for the sake of politeness and for propriety. I do not want that life anymore.”

“And you think to find a husband that would give you such freedom?”

“Or at least more than I have at present. Perhaps I have already found such a man.”

“Perhaps you have,” his eyes were so soft, his fingers shifting a little against hers.

“Trade?” she said after a long moment smiling, “Why that of all topics?”

“I am certain you are full of useful ideas,” he said smiling a little embarrassed, “It was all I could think of in the moment.”

“At least it is a comfort that you are a terrible liar,” she laughed.

“A King does not lie. He may be simply misinformed,” Eomer looked back to her.

A few corkscrew ringlets had fallen loose about her face and sweat had plastered stray hairs to the back of her neck. There was a flush over her cheeks and shoulders, and her eyes were heavy with wine and weariness.

“You should retire for the night, Lothiriel,” Eomer said gently, “You look as if you could fall into sleep on your feet.”

“Sleep does sound nice,” she allowed, draining her cup, “But drinking until I can no longer feel the pain in my back, or my feet also sounds nice.

He moved his head in agreement, holding his cup out to her.

“What hurts?” she asked, pouring carefully trying not to spill.

“My back is the worst,” Eomer admitted, “Though I have a shoulder and a knee that taunt me.”

“What a fine, broken pair we are,” she laughed, “Do you like wine?”

His head wobbled, “I will drink it, and this is not bad.”

“Send word home as soon as you may, ‘Emergency; send mead at once’.”

“I already have. I will hide it in my rooms.”

“Even from your men?”

“I think their unease and the drink not being of their choosing has kept them from starting too much trouble.”

“Alas. We could use some distraction.”

He laughed a little, “Yes, but for diplomatic purposes, I would rather they behave.”

“You might be right,” she remembered the looks of confusion and mild revulsion between Eothain and Deor as they stared at a lobster on one of the serving trays as Eothain prodded its shell with a serving fork as if he expected it to fight back.

She closed her eyes as she felt the cool wind on her face, “I should go to bed before my father tries to steal me away again.”

“I would offer to escort you, but I do not think such a thing would not be appropriate.”

“No this is not Edoras,” she said quietly, offering her hand daintily to him. He pressed her fingers gently, bowing his head, his eyes catching hers for a moment.

“May your dreams be sweet, corenu,” he said softly.

She could feel the restraint in him and could see that he wanted to pull her into his arms as much as she wanted him to hold her. She took a moment longer to breathe in the earthy scent of his skin before she curtsied elegantly and took her leave.

0x0x0

“I do not want my daughter so far away,” Prince Imrahil said before his sister could open her mouth.

“You may not have a choice,” Lady Ivriniel said quietly eying the King of Rohan, “He is clearly besotted.”

“A passing infatuation to be sure. She is different from the ladies he is used to.”

“Perhaps, but I have been watching him. He seems an honorable and courteous man. I would not be surprised if he offered himself as a suitor,” Ivriniel said carefully, “I would be a sound political match.”

Prince Imrahil let out a low grumble of agreement, watching his daughter smile up at him, offering him her hand. He had always hoped to keep his children closer to him, but he felt that hope slipping a little. Perhaps she would be happier in a love match, but her current favor was not where Imrahil had anticipated.

“I have not heard of any impropriety,” Ivriniel said as if to reassure her brother.

“I have a midwife coming tomorrow to ensure that she is intact.”

A brief shadow passed over her Ivriniel’s face, “Oh course.”

“I trust my daughter’s good sense, but it will hold any naysayers or gossip at bay while she accepts suitors,” Imrahil said in a low voice, his eyes narrowing a little at the man smiling at his daughter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hey all, I hope you have enjoyed the story so far. Just a quick heads up, this chapter contains references to past attempted sexual assault, and what Lothiriel and other characters has mentioned as an "inspection". I have done my best to keep these references simply and non-graphic, as I personally have a difficult time writing this sort of thing, but I wanted to let any readers that might not want to read about it at all know. If you would rather skip this chapter, I should have a new one up tomorrow, and will give a brief recap of this chapter in the Notes for the next chapter.

The marble corridors gleamed in the morning sun as Eomer walked the halls toward Prince Imrahil’s family apartments going through the words in his head, rearranging them. “…my lord I care deeply for your daughter, and I wish… not… my lord, your daughter is… a most wonderous person, and it would be a great honor if you would allow… no… accept me as a suitor…” he groaned internally.

He should have asked Lothiriel what to say. In Rohan, a man need only go through this to ask the hand of his intended. The customs of this place seemed bent on creating an unsurmountable number of obstacles between lovers.

Lothiriel’s aunt Lady Ivriniel left the princess’ rooms with one of the ladies-in-waiting and an older woman in a midwife’s hood.

“Ah, my lord King Eomer,” Princess Ivriniel smiled if she was surprised by his presence, she did not show it as she and the other ladies curtsied.

He bowed in return, “I had hoped to speak to your lord brother, Prince Imrahil, if her were available.”

“Of course,” she smiled sweetly, leading him and the old midwife along the corridor to the largest set of rooms, “If you would but wait, a moment, your majesty.” Lady Ivriniel gestured to a chaise in what looked to be a sitting room before quickly ushering the midwife into a separate room, closing the door, only to return a moment later.

“May I offer refreshments? We have tea, coffee, wine?”

“Coffee?” he asked, confused.

“A strong, bitter beverage from the South-Lands,” she smiled pouring some hot liquid into a dainty ceramic cup, “You are welcome to sample some.”

Lady Ivriniel bit her tongue hard not to laugh when the King blew on the cup and drank directly from it instead of pouring the coffee into the deep saucer to cool it incrementally.

“We do not have anything of the like in Rohan. It is delicious,” he smiled, wondering about the headaches of trade routes, or if he could buy some of this directly from Lothiriel’s people, before remembering his purpose, “Pardon me, your grace, but is a birth expected?”

“We have not been so blessed,” Ivriniel turned her back to him, and poured some wine into her own cup.

Eomer watched the lady’s shoulders as she tensed, “I pray no illness has befallen your house.”

“A simple, woman’s matter. I would not trouble your majesty with such trivialities,” she smiled, taking a perch on the seat across from him. Before he could say anything, she pressed on, ave you enjoyed your time here thus far?”

“I find the city stifling, if I may speak plainly. My people do not build their settlements so,” Eomer was smiling and trying to take the measure of this gatekeeper, noting the wine in her cup, and wondering what was troubling this prim princess.

Lady Ivriniel shifted her eyes to the door a moment, “I am sure it is quite different,” her voice dropped a little and her features shifted, “What are your intentions toward my niece? Please speak quickly and plainly, as you seem so inclined to do.”

Eomer paused, “she is beyond me, and I know that but- “

“But?”

“I only want for her happiness.”

“And you think to give her that?” Ivriniel asked and he saw Lothiriel in the tilt of her jaw, and in the raise of the brow.

“As far as I am able.”

“Why? What does that gain you?”

Eomer wondered if marriage here was some transfer of gains and properties, was only a tidy line on a ledger sheet. He could not find the words.

“You truly love her? For her own self?” Ivriniel almost deflated at the realization, “Well I would advise you to speak of the benefits of a union in more intrinsic terms. Talk to my brother of treaty possibilities. Hold off on speaking of your affections, noble and sweet though they might be.”

“Was… Lothiriel spoke of… some manner of inspection of her person…”

“She has been inspected,” Ivriniel said quietly, “and is intact,” The lady was making a study of him the way he might look over a foal. The door began to open again, “You have never seen the sea?” Ivriniel asked, smiling politely.

“No, I fear I have never had the pleasure,” Eomer replied drinking deeply from the hot drink, seeing the midwife leave out of the corner of his eye.

“Ah, your majesty,” Prince Imrahil smiled, “I am so terribly sorry to have kept you waiting.”

0x0x0

He was not sleeping when the knocking came at his door, Eomer was trying to make some sense of his papers. The Lords of the Riddermark had simple troubles that they seemed unwilling to spell out in simple terms. The knock pulled him back to where he was, in reality, far from home on a selfish quest for a queen.

Lord Erchirion held a finger to his lips as soon as the door opened and jerked his head. The second son led him to a servant’s passage before speaking, “You can keep a secret, can’t you?”

“Aye,” Eomer said, trying to keep the question out of his voice, eying the rucksack in Erchirion’s hand, and the clinking of bottles in the bag.

“I am going to take a risk, but you cannot even speak to anything you see.”

“Alright…” Eomer stared at the man noting the slightly glazed look in his eyes, “Have you done something?”

“No. Please be subtle if you can, but my sister…”

“Is she hurt?” Eomer struggled to keep his impatience in check.

Erchirion smiled, “no, but your company might improve her mood,” he started up the stairs, higher in the tower.

“Where are you taking me?” Eomer was intrigued, but he worried that some trap was being laid.

“The very pit of debauchery!” Erchirion stumbled on the next step, and Eomer steadied him, and he stared at the dark head in front of him, as Erchirion went on, “All the children nobility must have relief from our beloved parents, and together we may disregard their orders.”

“To what end?”

Erchirion laughed, “We drink, act, and speak freely without the fear of reprisals.”

“And the princess?”

Erchirion leaned on a wall thinking, “She drinking and sullen and I wish she were not so. You spoke with my father today,” he leaned forward, his finger at Eomer, staggering a little before catching himself, “Do you know the woman that went in to speak to him before you, what her charge was?”

“I believe so,” Eomer tried not to smile at the drunk fop. Were all of her brothers drunkards, or was this just some rough period that the middle son could not process properly?

Erchirion stumbled a little, “When she was first presented some… five or six years ago, a young lord, alike in age to her, payed her attention with ill intent.”

Eomer’s frowned hardened.

“I came upon them, and she had broken his nose,” Erchirion smiled, “I have never been so proud. But I think she might not have taken well to having her person examined.”

“Should she?” Eomer asked.

“Perhaps not, but she is drinking and does not want to be moved,” Erchirion leaned closer to Eomer smiling a little, “So perhaps you would have better luck getting her to go to sleep.”

Eomer leaned back a little from the princeling, “Does that man still live?”

“He was at the Black Gate with us, and I was going to run him through, but I could not get at him,” Erchirion started back up the stairs.

“I know that fury, but if you had killed him that day, though, he would have had the honor of a death in battle.”

“What would you suggest?”

“If he was drunk and he fell down some stairs, it might serve better.”

Erchirion opened a door and looked out into the corridor, his face screwed up in concentration, “But how… oh! I like you. I can see why my sister does, too.” Erchirion’s eyes shone as he leapt out into the corridor and tiptoed down the way to a door, and looking back at Eomer, and waving his hand dramatically, “You leave your title here, and remember that you are sworn to secrecy.”

“Agreed,” Eomer said, clasping and unclasping his hands behind his back, feeling that this was tremendously silly, or that he was going to regret coming here.

Erchirion took a deep breath, “Just say that I am drunk and said I would show you a real party.”

“You are drunk,” Eomer pointed out.

“Yes… well… Yes,” Erchirion opened the door and everyone quieted little, “I found more wine!” he called out, holding his sack over his head, far too enthusiastic for the mundane task that he had managed, and the enthusiasm seemed to eagerly shared by the collection of drunk young nobles, few of whom seemed older than Eomer, and all he could think for the moment was that their idea of rebellion was rather sweet. The company gathered was perhaps twelve young lords and ladies, seeming drunk for the volume of their voices and the enthusiasm for the betting games they played.

“This is Eomer, he knows the rules,” Erchirion called out, handing bottles around, looking at one and pouting “This isn’t wine.” He passed Eomer a bottle of whiskey absentmindedly.

Eomer smiled politely, scanning the room until he found Lothiriel, sitting against the wall, with a bottle like the one he now held. He uncorked the bottle and took a long drink before going to her.

“I should warn you that I will not make for good company at present,” Lothiriel said, looking up at Eomer. Her eyes were glassy, the way a person drinking in sorrow or rage alone would look.

He sat beside her, pouring himself a glass and sitting silently by her for a moment before, “The midwife- “

“I do not wish to speak of it,” she poured more whiskey into a glass, a cold laugh leaving her lips, “Do you remember that night, the feast after Helm’s Deep when Cynewara and Freya though to trick me into drinking?”

His brow quirked a little at the strange question, wondering if she thought that was so long ago that he might have forgotten, “Yes.”

Her head rolled a little, “I almost with I was back there, winning you money, and still not even sure who I was,” she held the glass out to him, “Westo hal,” she drained the glass quickly, barely reacting to the bite, “I have been drinking this since I was sixteen, and I think I might keep on. Perhaps I will drink this on my death bed to spite them all.”

“Who?” Eomer asked, pouring himself another glass, “Who do you mean to spite?”

Her head turned slowly and unevenly, she took a deep breath, “I am not sure I can stand to be seen by you, just now.”

He did not answer her but kept his gaze on her face. He reached the short distance to her hand, and she grasped his, her hand trembling.

“I am a terrible mess, and you ought to get yourself away from me,” she said.

“How are you terrible?” he asked, laughing a little, looking at her confused, “You might be a mess, but who is not?”

She shot him a look, refilling their glasses. Eomer watched her hand and felt somehow steadied by the liquor. Until this moment he had not even realized how well a stiff drink was serving him.

“All I would ask, is that you would please not ever publicly drink more than me. That would be an embarrassment,” he smiled gently, making her laugh a little, “Lothiriel, I am here, and I am not going anywhere, and I will listen to you and whatever troubles your mind, should you wish to share them,” he squeezed her hand gently, “I will share any burden, you know that.”

“There are memories I would rather have left forgotten,” Lothiriel said in a low voice.

“Would you like to speak of what you have remembered?”

“Not really,” she said gently, looking up at him, “In short, I am still a maiden, and I almost kicked a midwife in the head.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, his whole body tensing until she leaned her head on his shoulder. Not for the first time he was struck by how small she was. Most people with Numenor blood in their veins stood taller than their counterparts, but she was a petite little thing.

“What if I cannot be a proper wife?” she asked, “Sometimes the idea of being touched turns my stomach over.”

“Wipe that concern from your mind,” he kissed the top of her head, “If you wish me not to touch you, you have only to tell me so. I love you, no matter what hardships you have faced in your life.”

She tilted her head back, staring at him a moment, her eyes focusing on him, “What did you say?”

“You are more than the troubles-”

“No,” she rolled back to kneel in front of him, “I am, forgive me, very drunk. But did you just say that you loved me?”

Eomer hesitated, looking at the glass in his hand. How many of these had he finished? He stared ahead of him startled and realizing that he was beginning to feel tipsy. Oh, Bema, no… He looked at her, “Yes, I love you.”

The light seemed to come back into her eyes, a smile creeping across her face.

“No, please do not make a fuss,” Eomer said in a low voice, “I should not want the Princess of Dol Amroth to find out. I asked her father for permission to court her and was granted that honor.”

Her smile widened, “I will not tell. I heard she is a strange one, thought.”

“But wonderful in her strangeness, but I should think that she might favor the King of Rohan. That fellow is a crotchety old git,” he shook his head.

“I have heard that he is kind and charming,” she looked over her shoulder before leaning closer, “and if you can catch him at smiling, he has dimples, but you cannot tell anyone.”

He smiled at her, and could still see sadness in her eyes, even as she smiled. He smoothed his fingertips over her palm gently, tracing swirling patterns over her skin to calm her mind.

Her brow softened a little, and she looked down at their hands before grasping his again, “You have a kind heart, Eomer,” she said in a quiet voice.

He did not answer, but there was a small change in his features. A round of raucous laughter from a dice game on the other side of the room, drew his attention from her face. “I think you should rest, Lothiriel.”

“Why are you always telling me to go to sleep?” she laughed until she sensed his concern, “They’re harmless. I know all of them.”

“I am sure, but I must return to my work, in what faculties I am able to, and I do not want to leave you here alone.”

“Why?” she smiled a little, “Do you fear I will make some mistake?”

“I trust your judgement, and I have no right to instruct you on how to live your life.”

“But you think I should be a good girl?” she teased a little.

He smirked, standing, “I never said that.”

She nodded, and stood, wobbling a little. Eomer reached out to stabilize her, looking around for one of her brothers, and saw Erchirion asleep on the floor before finding another, “Amrothos, help your sister to her rooms, if you would.”

“My nephew and niece like you very much,” she said suddenly.

“They are precious little ones, and they are to be spoiled,” he smiled and kissed the back of her hand before passing her hand to her suspicious brother. Eomer settled back against the wall draining the rest of the cup, thinking as her looked out through the window.

After a moment of contemplation, he pulled a blanket over Erchirion, and shifted him onto his side. He poured a tankard of water and left it by the unconscious lord, and for a moment wondered at the extent that Erchirion was haunted. He left without speaking to another soul and followed the path back to his own rooms, sneaking the bottle of whiskey that Erchirion had handed him with him back to his papers.

0x0x0

Amrothos followed his sister into her room, “You need to be careful.”

“Of what?” she asked, pouring herself some water to drink, her tongue feeling heavy in her mouth.

“Are you truly asking me that?” Amrothos asked, his voice raising a little before he regained control, “What are you playing at with King Eomer?”

“I am not playing at anything. I like him,” she said sitting on her chaise.

“And you mean to marry the first man you like?”

“He is not the first man I have ever liked, brother,” she set her water aside, rubbing her brow, irritably.

“Then the first man that likes you,” Amrothos retorted, a harsh barb.

Lothiriel gave her brother a withering look, “do not be such a heel.”

“You would put yourself in a vulnerable position for the sake of a feeling?”

She did not reply, her rage barely held in check, “I do not seek your council, Amrothos. I am more than capable of making my own choices.”

“I know that, but I do not want you to be hurt.”

Lothiriel sighed, “Eomer will not hurt me.”

“You cannot know that.”

“Then I ought to simply hold myself removed from the entire world until I die?” Lothiriel asked.

Amrothos’ face clouded, “He is a barbarian.”

“Because his people are different than we?” Lothiriel slumped back, “Morwen Steelsheen thought so, and that robbed them of a good number of women that could have fought.”

“Do you hear yourself?”

“You have not even given him a chance!”

Amrothos shook his head, “Get some rest.”

“Where are you going?”

“To bed,” Amrothos said, “do you need to come tuck me in, too?”

Lothiriel rolled her eyes, “good night.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks for tuning in to another chapter!  
> If you opted to skip last chapter, here's a quick recap:  
> Eomer goes to ask permission to court Lothiriel, and finds her aunt and a midwife and realizes they've checked her over. Eomer tries coffee, and likes it, admits to her aunt that he loves her, and gets permission to court her. That night, Erchirion drunk off his ass brings Eomer to a gaggle of drunken young nobles to cheer up Lothiriel, (And I, your humble writer, struggled not to turn that whole section into the John Mulaney bit about high school house parties) where he tells her that he loves her as they get drunk. Amrothos later walks her back to her room and is a grumpy butt about his sister falling for Eomer.  
> Ok, I think that's everything you need to know. Enjoy.

In the morning, Lothiriel’s head felt a little foggy, but she thanked the Valar that this was the worst of it. She had heard others speak of the hangover that could come with drinking. Whiskey was the one drink that she felt had any effect on the next morning.

She sat up, resting her back against the headboard, and staring around the room. The first wave of suitors was expected today, and she felt as though she wanted to drink more for the sake of the long day ahead of her. She rang the silver bell by her bed and waited for Anthel.

“Good morning, your highness,” Anthel curtsied, “I will have your breakfast up in a moment.”

“Bring hot water for the basin as well, please,” Lothiriel said.

“Yes, your highness. Your Lady Aunt would like to see you as soon as you can see her.”

“After I wash.”

“Will you want your hair washed?”

Lothiriel paused, “No, thank you.” Some perfumed oil would suit well enough.

Anthel brought back the tray, her breakfast of yogurt with fruit and honey, and coffee and a neat stack of letters. Lothiriel rolled her eyes and took a sip of creamy coffee before starting into the letters. To a one they were all from the men that would call on her. She skimmed through them as she broke her fast, and they did little to ease her irritation. This was going to be a long day.

0x0x0

If she had been allowed to drink during the hours that followed, Lothiriel would have done. If her aunt and sister-in-law were not sitting nearby to chaperone, she would have told each of these men within moments that she was not interested and saved herself the time and energy of this process.

But polite society requited that she be demure and listen to every suitor offer her flatteries and speak of her beauty and her accomplishments. She held no acrimony to most of these men. They were young and were simply doing what was expected. It was not their fault that her affections were already spoken for. She wished that she could simply have told her father that she was falling in love with someone already, but for all of her wealth and privileges, plain speech was rarely among those privileges.

She smiled and tried to dull her wit on the knowledge that she had to thin the herd of heirs out.

Around noon, she looked at Aunt Ivriniel, “How many more?”

“Another seven today,” Ivriniel said, “Do you want to break for your midday meal? The King of Rohan has asked the pleasure of eating with you.”

“Yes, please,” Lothiriel smiled politely.

Ivriniel smiled, “I thought that might please you,” Her aunt sat a moment by her, smoothing a hand maternally over Lothiriel’s hair, “You favor him.”

Gadrien smiled, looking up from her embroidery frame, “he is handsome in a rugged, angry sort of way.”

Lothiriel blushed a little, not answering.

“And it would politically be a sound match,” Ivriniel said, “I have already told your father so.”

“King Eomer is a good man,” Lothiriel said simply.

“And my children will not stop talking of the Big King that gave them sweets,” Gadrien smiled, “besides he is clearly besotted with you.”

Would that women made matches, Lothiriel thought, “He wished that I ensure that he would be my best choice.”

“Truly?”

Lothiriel nodded.

Gadrien set her sewing aside and went to sit on Lothiriel’s other side, “Do you love him?”

“I am not certain.”

“Far be it for me to speak out of place, but I find all of this suitor business a waste of time,” Ivriniel said, “but your father,” she waved a hand dismissively, “though there is one concern.”

“That being?” Gadrien asked.

“The people of Rohan believe in free love, do they not?” Ivriniel asked.

“Eomer is aware that I am a maiden,” Lothiriel said in return.

“Indeed,” Ivriniel knew that but did not detail her conversation with him, “But there may be a difference of… expectation.”

Gadrien widened her eyes teasingly at Lothiriel, trying not to laugh.

“I assume most ladies enter marriage knowing that they must learn such things, so that they might meet their husbands’ expectations,” Lothiriel said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Ivriniel shot her a look, and went to summon a page to have luncheon brought and as she did, both Gadrien and Lothiriel fell into giggles before Gadrien leaned close to Lothiriel’s ear, “I can give you the name of a woman that can instruct you before you marry, should you wish.”

It was such a strange thing to hear from the sister-in-law that Lothiriel knew as strait laced, but she had ever seemed happy in her marriage to Elphir. These last few moments had left Lothiriel wondered if she had misjudged her. It was strange for Lothiriel to find that she was not the only woman in her family that thought this was a waste of time. She wondered if her brother’s marriage had started as a love match, or if it had grown into one.

There was a knock at the door, and they both sat back as if they had been caught in some conspiracy, and they both feel back into laughter. Lothiriel went to the door and opened it slowly, peering out and seeing Eomer standing there.

“Oh no,” she said, eyes wide, “You will not do at all,” she closed the door a moment, her smile broke before she opened the door again, and seeing him smiling back at her, “Much better. You looked positively frightened; more so than I have seen you look at the prospect of battle.”

Eomer looked down, “I currently find myself in a far more fearsome place than that; the realm of womenfolk,” he smiled, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, is he funny as well?” Gadrien asked.

A look of surprise came over Eomer’s features, as he in his excitement had forgotten the need for a chaperone, “Princess Gadrien,” he bowed his head.

“Come in, while lady Ivriniel is away,” Gadrien smiled, jerking her head to the balcony, “I will mind the door to give you a moment of privacy.”

Lothiriel watched her sister-in-law an angled wooden block from her little box of silk threads and wedge it under the door, somewhat surprised. She took Eomer’s hand in hers and almost dragged him away to the balcony and kissed him quickly, her hands pulling him close over his shoulders. When they parted, he took a deep breath, “And how does Your Highness feel this afternoon?”

“Quite well, at present, Your Majesty,” she smiled, running her tongue over her lip to taste his kiss, “I felt a little foggy this morning, but it passed.”

He shook his head, “I envy you.”

“Are you in pain?” she asked, smiling sympathetically.

“I was, but I ate and am recovered for the most part,” he looked at her.

“Have you taken the opportunity of your free time to enjoy the sights of the city?” she asked, leaning into the gentle hand on her cheek.

“Just one,” he said, looking at her.

She blushed.

“The marketplace here is outstanding,” he smiled.

“The cheek of you,” she laughed, pressing close to him.

“Of me?” he leaned close to her ear, “I think the fox a better sigil for you, vixen.”

“I might be inclined to agree. Have you ever met a swan? They are vicious, vile things,” she said in a low voice

“But they look so graceful,” he nuzzled against her neck.

“And so, they will appear until they attack.”

“Then perhaps they are like Your Highness after all,” he smirked, his lips brushing against her neck, planting a gentle kiss below her jaw before standing back up, “How has the day progressed? Any suitors of note?”

“None that seem worth the time, honestly.”

Eomer hesitated.

“What?” she smoothed her hand over his heart.

“I am honestly surprised your lord father is doing all of this. If he was unwilling to reject your cousin, I would think that he would simply take my interest more seriously.”

Lothiriel sighed, “He did not want to accept the offer. I think he wants to get me married before I am too old, but that he is taking the chance that he might have felt robbed of.”

“But this ought not be about him,” Eomer said.

“You wanted me to review my options,” she teased him.

“And I stand by that.”

There was a clatter at the door.

“Oh, Aunt!” Gadrien said loudly, gesturing to them to sit quickly as she fidgeted with the door handle, “It’s stuck, I’m afraid.” She waited until they were seated before she yanked the block from under the door and opened it as if struggling, “You Highness, has this door been sticking?”

“Oh, it does that,” Lothiriel waved a hand as if she had such little concern for it that she had forgotten about it.

Ivriniel scowled between the girls and the caller, not believing them in the least, “I will have someone look into that.”

Eomer smiled politely, and Lothiriel thought she could almost see sweat beading on his brow from nerves and she wondered how much fear he felt for her spinster aunt.


	5. Chapter 5

Eomer stared wide eyed at Lord Amrothos standing up in the river muck, staring back at him. Why had he done that? Why hadn’t he just smiled and feigned a laugh at the vulgar joke Amrothos had made about Rohirrim and their love of their horses? Even under his horror and embarrassment, Eomer could still feel the rage in his blood.

“That’s what you get, brother,” Lord Erchirion called from beside his own horse.

Lord Amrothos shook the muck from his hands, “Fair enough,” he held his hand out to Eomer for help back up on to the bank. Eomer grasped his forearm to help the lean fellow out of the river.

“An excellent throw,” Lord Elphir clapped delicately, “I would score you the winner of a tournament, were my brother full of anything other than hot air.”

“Very good, now that you’ve all had your go at me,” Lord Amrothos’ said, good naturedly, before shaking his head and wringing his shoulder length hair out, “Next His Majesty will have to start adding his say to it.”

Eomer looked embarrassed, “I apologize, my lord.”

“Why? It is interesting to see you act as yourself rather than forcing politeness to curry favor. Besides it was far from the first time I have been thrown in the river. The Anduin and I are by now well acquainted,” Lord Amrothos smiled up at him. He was a little shorter than his brothers, and his smile, genuine and self-deprecating showed his cheerfulness.

“Though it might be the first time a man has thrown you in,” Lord Elphir jabbed.

“It is not even that,” Lord Amrothos wiped the mud from his face with a handkerchief from his saddle bag.

“What happened?” their father asked, having rounded back on his horse and finally coming to them.

“My horse saw a snake and threw me,” Lord Amrothos smiled, “King Eomer was kind enough to help me out and calm my horse.”

Prince Imrahil looked over his sons, before looking to Eomer, his head bowed, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Eomer bowed his head, but not before noting the knowing look from Lord Faramir.

0x0x0

Lothiriel snuck along the corridor, consulting the map in her head as she counted silently the doors. She stopped at what she hoped was the right door and knocked very quietly.

For a moment, she thought she had the wrong room, and that no one would open the door and she would have to hurry back to her bed and hope no one saw her in the process. But the door opened, and Eomer looked as if he were repressing irritation until he saw her standing there. With a quick glimpse around, he moved away, letting her in.

The door firmly closed he turned to her, wrapping his robe firmly around himself, “What are you doing here?”

“Sleep eludes me,” she admitted, looking over the papers that were spread over the desk in the small sitting room, “What are you working on?”

“A trifle of my lords,” he admitted, pouring her a small whiskey and one for himself, “I must have a land survey done between two tenant farms.”

Lothiriel accepted the drink, settling into a seat.

“You should not be here,” Eomer cautioned mildly, settling back in his chair, knowing there was no chance of budging her from where she sat.

“I know,” she said in a low voice, “It is only that I thought perhaps I might come and visit you from time to time.”

Eomer cocked a brow at her, gesturing at the papers in front of him, “Perhaps you can make sense of all these things. I fear I have no mind for diplomacy.”

“Perhaps,” she smirked, “What issues do you find most pressing?”

He pushed a ledger over to her, “This is what supplies we ought to have at Meduseld in case of a siege, and this,” he handed her a sheet of paper, “is what Lady Baldgwyn says we currently have.”

Lothiriel skimmed her eyes over the pages, noting discrepancies, “This is a reasonable margin of error,” she said.

“You do not think we have a thief?” Eomer asked, “Theft is a serious crime in the Riddermark.”

She laughed, “If you do, likely it is a few servants sneaking a meal more than they are allotted. Really, Eomer. This is what you consider most pressing?”

“Well what do you advise?” he asked, staring at her so intensely that for a moment, she wondered if he had gone quite mad.

“That you get a keeper of the house to more regularly update the books and look for larger discrepancies than a few apples. If it continues at a steady pace, then say something, but it could be a mistake. Who has been in charge of household accounts thus far?”

“Keeper of the House, Gredda, overseen by my sister.”

Lothiriel shot him a look, realization and irritation writ on her brow, “Ah, so it is only a pressing matter as you want to be sure I can do simple sums?”

“If you are to be my wife, I should be sure that you aren’t going to have the servants beat for small inconsistencies,” Eomer tilted his head, smirking.

“I do hate tricks,” she pursed her lips at him.

“I currently have my affairs in hand,” Eomer smiled, “But I am sure there will be another courier tomorrow to take my orders back and bring me even more riddles.”

“Do you think you could as to have some legal books sent?” Lothiriel asked suddenly.

“Why?”

She shrugged, “I should study the laws, should I not?”

“I will have some sent for you, if we are betrothed,” he said, “How much do you intend to study?”

“I imagine I would be learning on my feet more oft than not, but I would like a head start, if one could be afforded me.”

“Come sit with me,” he pulled her along by the hand to sit in a chaise, and she nestled easily into his chest without hesitation, her head resting on his shoulder.

“I should apologize for the state I was in the other night,” she said quietly.

“You need not,” he stroked his hand over her shoulder absentmindedly.

Lothiriel turned those wide eyes on him, “I should manage more composure than that. Self-pity is not something that you would tolerate in anyone else.”

Eomer looked away, thinking a moment, “No, I suppose it is different.”

“For what reason could it be?” she asked, “That you love me? I should think that would hold me to higher standards.”

“And yet it does not,” he said, “I know not how to put to words what I mean.”

Her hand over his heart was so small, and dainty, and looking at it, he had a sense that she was so much more delicate than he had ever really thought. Perhaps that was the reason for her strength.

“You told me that I possessed more strength than I might think,” Eomer said at long last, “And I think you do as well, though you do not think of it as strength, for you do not imagine that your own actions have been courageous.”

“If I were not a princess, I would be no more remarkable than any other woman,” she said, smirking ruefully.

“And yet, I began to fall for you when you had no name, no family, and no past. When I first kissed you, you had only a future ahead of you.”

“And I still do?”

Eomer’s hand on her jaw pulled her gently to him, and he pressed a kiss to her lips, holding her there for a long moment, and she melted a little against him.


	6. Chapter 6

The women, who in that moment seemed more like girls snuck through the servant’s gate of the citadel, night covering their escape, and shawls pulled over their heads, their hands clasped tight together, one following the other, and hoping this was so minor an infraction as was promised.

“You are certain you will not be missed?” Eowyn asked.

“I should think not,” Lothiriel said, smiling wide over her shoulder.

“Are there such festivals often? It seems as though this city has not ceased in its revelries since we came here.”

“No, but I suppose they are making up for lost time.”

Eowyn smiled at her friend and wondered if she had snuck out when she had visited her uncle’s house before the war, sure as her feet were over the path to the lower levels, finding short cuts, and alleys.

“Keep an eye on your purse,” Lothiriel said, as if she had just remembered that someone might try to rob them.

The idea had been presented initially as a joke between the two princesses, but Lothiriel seemed to become more assured that they ought to sneak out of the citadel the more they jested at how they should get away from everything, and Eowyn for her part had been eager to get out of the stone palace. She was unused to the way that ladies seemed to be overly protected in the South, for the claim seemed to be that the constant watching was to ensure their safekeeping, even as she found it stifling.

Eowyn tried to hold back her laughter, for nothing was in itself funny, but even just being out in the night air in the city gave her a sense of freedom that made her feel giddy. The young women felt suddenly as if they could breathe free in the space around them, even as the air smelled of trash.

The sounds of merriment poured through the alleyways and over the facades of the buildings. Eowyn wondered absently if everyone in this place was still drinking still, a week or so after the final victory due to a fear of hangover, or if the people in this city had lived so long in the fear and certainty of their death that they were not sure what else to do.

Lothiriel went to the door of a pub and bought them a pair of ales. Eowyn looked about her noting that the people of Gondor viewed her kin as savage and uncivilized for the very behavior that they were engaging in. Lothiriel smiled as she looked over the contained madness, her eyes widened comically.

“Usually the city is not so…” Lothiriel hesitated.

“Wanton?” Eowyn smiled.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Lothiriel allowed, taking a long drink of ale. The young women moved through the crowded streets and laughed and danced a little through the streets, buying pastries. They danced in the square, their hands joined in glee, and they felt as though they were children.

“Is that a house of ill-repute?” Eowyn asked, when they paused in their dancing, her eyes catching sight of a woman leaning over a balcony, a ribbon waving in the air to catch the attention of men.

“Yes,” Lothiriel said, giving a short glance at the building, her mind taking a moment to register the men coming out of it. Her eyes were back on Eowyn’s pale face before her mind was aware of what she had seen.

Lothiriel’s head swiveled back to look at Eomer laughing with one of his men as they leaned against the wall.

“Perhaps there is a reason for my brother to be here?” Eowyn said in a quiet voice, trying to quell Lothiriel’s coming rage.

“Oh, I am certain there is a reason,” Lothiriel said, “The same reason for any man to go to such a place.”

“I do not think-” Eowyn began to speak but her words fell on deaf ears as Lothiriel tore away, “oh… oh no….”

Eomer looked up at Lothiriel, an open smile come over his features as he saw her, his hand held out to her, apparently unaware of her rage, “my lady.”

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Lothiriel asked.

“A little pitchy,” Eomer smiled, confusion writing his features, “But he is doing his best.”

Lothiriel tilted her head, “He?”

He seemed to realize that his intended had just seen him come out of a brothel, “What do you imagine I have been doing?”

“I am certain I would not want to imagine such things as that,” Lothiriel said, all but screaming at him in the middle of the street.

Eomer laughed, “You have no concern to that, little princess.” He offered her his hand again, “Come.”

Eowyn hovered behind Lothiriel, prepared to throw herself onto her friend, and hold her back from her brother before she beat him to death, “Brother,” she said in a low voice, and was surprised that he did not seem annoyed by her presence, clearly enjoying some stupid trick he was playing.

The interior of the brothel was loud and rambunctious and Lothiriel was not sure where to look until Eomer guided her eye to her brother, leaning against the wall on a small dais, singing his little heart out.

“Erchirion has decided it would seem that he and I are to be bosom companions,” Eomer said, laughing a little, “and he demanded that I would come to see his sing.”

“My brother is an idiot,” Lothiriel said.

“Indeed,” Eomer replied, “It would seem that he comes here oft to sing for the rabbles.”

Erchirion waved excitedly at his sister, taking a drink and stumbling off of the dais and over to her, “Hello, little sister!” He embraced her, staggering.

“You should eat something,” Lothiriel said, her face pressed into his shoulder, muffling her voice.

“I love you!” Erchirion smiled, “You are such a sweet little girl!”

Lothiriel smiled at her brother, patting his cheek, “You need to take fewer tankards, brother,” she supported the weight of him on her shoulder, helping him out into the open air.

“What are you doing here?” Erchirion asked as she took some bread from a vendor, “Are you following me?”

“Why would I be following you?” Lothiriel asked, trying to feed her brother.

“I dunno, our aunt has spies everywhere,” Erchirion slurred, “Wait! I have another song!”

“Of course, you do,” Lothiriel said, wanting to know what he meant by Ivriniel’s spies, and why should their aunt be following her own niblings with such an eye 

Eomer leaned by Eowyn, somewhat touched by Lothiriel tending her brother. She looked up at him, shaking her head a little.

“My friend!” Erchirion called to Eomer, gesturing to Eomer, “He is a nice man. I like this man, and you should marry him.” He stood wobbling, “I am going to bed!”

“How will you get back?” Lothiriel asked, holding her brother up.

“Oh, I am going back,” Erchirion stumbled to the brothel, “They let me sleep here when I can no longer stand.”

“How oft are you here?” Lothiriel asked after a moment, the harder question pushed aside. What had her brother become?

“Sometimes!” Erchirion laughed, resting his hands on her shoulders, “Do no worry for me, dear sister.”

Eomer’s hand on her shoulder as she watched her brother stagger away was somehow comforting to the storm that came through her mind.

“I have been blind to my family, and their own troubles,” Lothiriel said in a low voice.

“He is coping in his own way,” Eomer said gently, “And in time he will find his peace.”

“Should I be concerned?” Lothiriel asked.

“Perhaps,” Eomer allowed, “But for now, let him have this what he is taking to heal his soul. It is hardly different than any of the men that have fought, and this victory is still so fresh that in short time, they all may find contentment.”

“But you do not take such actions to find your own peace,” she said.

“No, but I have found it in part,” he said, his hand gentle on his shoulder.

“I had thought that you were…” she faltered, “I thought…”

He smiled, “I prefer affections freely given, my love.”

Eowyn took Lothiriel’s hand, “They’ve started the dancing again.”

Lothiriel smiled up at Eomer, and he kissed her cheek as she moved from him, and she could feel his eyes still on her as she danced with his sister, laughing even as she fought back concern for her brother.

Eowyn’s eyes met his for a moment, and she gestured him over to take up Lothiriel’s hand in his and dance through the country reel with the young princess. He hesitated but went forward as his sister moved from her friend to partner with a stranger.

He took Lothiriel’s hand gently in his, spinning her about, and moving through the easy steps, finding this so much easier than the courtly steps of the dancers of great halls. Lothiriel’s face lit up at him, laughing a little as she turned in his arms. His sister slipped away after the dance, telling Lothiriel that she needed sleep, and she parted from their company, leaving her brother to dance with his lover.

“Your steps are not so clumsy as you think,” Lothiriel laughed up at him as they stepped from the dancers for another ale.

“These dances are not so difficult to manage,” he allowed.

“I like dancing with you, even if it is so simple as that,” Lothiriel smiled, taking her ale, holding his hand, and she felt as if she was a simple young woman. No one took note of them at all, and she wondered at the ease of their brief time.

Eomer smoothed some hair back from her warm cheeks, smiling adoringly down at her.

They ran through the streets like wild children, laughing, and she leapt up on the stone ledge around a fountain, spinning along the narrow way, Eomer’s hand was held out in case she slipped and fell. Her hand fell into his daintily, resting on his palm. She grinned down at him, and he circled her waist in his hands, and he lifted her down from her roost high above the street level. Eomer held her before him, resting his brow to hers a moment, his smile unwavering.

“We must not become too comfortable in these stolen midnight moments,” he whispered, smiling.

“I will do as please me,” she smiled, pulling back to look at him, “and as long as I am not caught, there is little cause for alarm.”

“Then we must not be caught,” Eomer smiled back, taking a few, dancing steps with her, teasingly.


	7. Chapter 7

Three weeks of tedious days passed for Lothiriel as suitors and callers dropped off in small numbers, the rest holding out against her designs, either aware that she bore them no interest, or blithely ignorant, and sure that they would win fair lady over with their charms. She took consolation in that her brothers had taken up a bantering friendship with Eomer, and that her father seemed to show him respect and friendship.

She wondered absently if she should truly be given such power over men, as she found herself fantasizing about throwing them into a fighting ring and making them fight to the death for her hand. The moment the thought entered her mind, she dismissed it, but it did bring a smile to her face. She filed it away to tell Eomer later, as he would have some retort to give her.

“Do you find me amusing, my lady?” Lord Cumirion asked, smiling charmingly at her.

“I simply remembered something, my lord,” she smiled simply.

“Oh?”

“Nothing of consequence,” she knew the cheaply charming young lord, and was more than ready for her next appointment.

“Did you enjoy your stay in Edoras?”

“I did, rather,” she said, preparing her defense of the culture and people of Rohan yet again.

He slid his hand over her thigh in a slow movement, “I am sure a lady with so astute a mind as yours must have learned much from the ladies there,” he leaned close to her ear, “Perhaps you could show me what you might have learned.”

She jerked back, staring at him, wide-eyed before shooting a rapid look at her chaperones, who were occupied by their needlepoint.

His hand squeezed at the pump shape of her thigh through her dress.

Lothiriel grasped his hand suddenly, crushing his smallest finger back into his hand before twisting his arm behind his back, “Sister, open the door please,” she said in a flat voice, feeling as if she was not in her own body for a moment, but simply watching.

Gadrien leapt her feet, and opened the door, her eyes wide.

Lothiriel shoved Lord Cumirion out through the door, kicking the small of his back before recomposing herself, and feeling herself coming back into control of her body.

Lord Cumirion started up at her from the stone floor, his eyes wide, “How dare you!?”

“Oh, did you think to lay your hands on my without my consent, and in so I would not react at all?” she asked, her voice icy with rage.

“You seek to shame me in front of my peers,” Lord Cumirion scrambled to his feet.

“I think you need no help from me on that account. You must already be a disappointment to your family. If so dainty a lady as I could unseat you, I greatly doubt that you could have been much help in battle.”

There were some chuckles from the assembled lords.

Lord Cumirion stepped closer to her, “You are a mad woman.”

“Perhaps so,” she raised a brow a him, her face the picture of composed calm, “And if you find me so then all the better, for I have no interest in having you return to my presence with your disrespect.”

“You should be so flattered by my attentions,” he growled in a low voice, grasping her arm tight. His eye was drawn by Eomer and a few of his men pressing closer to dispatch the cretin if needed. Lord Cumirion snorted, “Ah, your dogs do heel. How ever did you train them so well?”

Her eyes widened, “Clearly I need no help, my lord. And if I did, I would not force them into such foul company as yours. Now remove your hand from me at once, or I will serve you a more permanent reminder of propriety.”

Lord Cumirion glared at her before bowing and storming from her.

Lothiriel could feel her hands shaking, and she thought it a shame that he had left. She had wanted to punch him in that imperiously ridiculous chin. She turned to face the gaggle of men waiting about outside of her rooms, “If anyone else here had any ideas of laying hand on me, you had best put that from your mind. I will not quietly suffer being pawed over,” she said in a loud, commanding voice.

The door to the father’s room lay open and she could see his face where he stood, controlled rage apparent on his features as he gestured her over.

“Pardon me, my lords,” she passed through the path made by the men that parted in her way.

She followed her father into his study and stood waiting for the torrent of rage and disappointment to pour out of him.

“Daughter, you cannot behave in this manner,” Prince Imrahil said at long last.

“Would you rather I sit silently as a man puts his hands to my person against my will? Would you rather I be harassed than cause a scene?” her voice was cracking. It was an earnest inquiry, and she was not sure what the answer would be. She had suffered enough wandering hands in front of his face, and had held her tongue, and waited for someone to say something. They never did.

“Of course not,” Imrahil rubbed his head, “But you could just send such a man away if you are displeased, rather than call him out in front of half the nobles of this court.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if he thought she enjoyed that sort of attention.

“You are an adult. You can no longer act like a child.”

“Act like a child?” she asked, “Is that what you think I did?”

“You should have said something to your aunt, or to Gadrien.”

“I did. I asked Gadrien to open the door for me,” Lothiriel tilted her chin up at him.

Imrahil sighed, looking at her, a strange faraway look coming into his eyes. He sat in the chair behind his desk, “You are so much like your mother.”

Lothiriel faltered, “Am I?” No one ever spoke of her mother to her.

“She possessed as strong a will as you do,” Imrahil said, pained, “Would it be so terrible to want my daughter to live near me?”

“Ada, I do not know what you mean.”

Imrahil rubbed his forehead again, “I know who holds your favor, and I admit I have no qualm in agreeing with a suit from King Eomer. He seems a good and honorable man, your brothers speak well of him, even if he threw Amrothos in the river.”

“Amrothos’ horse threw him,” Lothiriel corrected.

Her father gave her a look, “I know my son, and I consider throwing him into a deeper end, rather than holding his head under a great show of restraint. Somehow this incident has won Eomer the friendship of your brothers.”

Lothiriel made no answer.

“You are my only daughter and sending you so far from home hurts my heart, unless we can be certain there is no other lord that might make you happy.”

“Eomer thinks likewise.”

“He does not.”

“He has said many times over that he would rather I make a choice that would make me happy, even if that is not him, rather than rushing into marriage.”

Imrahil turned his eyes from her, “Would he accept a few month’s wait between betrothal and marriage?”

“I could not say.”

“Send him in,” Imrahil waved a hand dismissing her.

Lothiriel curtsied and left the chambers and was not surprised to see Eomer standing at the door, a look of concern on his face.

“Are you well, my lady?” he asked, looking at her hands, their tremble calming.

“Yes.”

“Did he scold you?”

“No.”

“What did that bastard pup do?” Eomer asked, anger flashing in his eyes.

She smiled up at him, “My lord.”

“I know you are well equipped, and have handled yourself-”

“My lord father wishes to hear your proposal,” she said in a low voice, “but he will put conditions on his acceptance.”

Eomer’s whole body seemed to soften.

“Go on,” she nudged him.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his eyes shooting between her and the door.

“You can manage, I’m sure, Your Majesty. I am going for a walk,” she curtsied and went to collect Gadrien and Eowyn to take the air in the garden.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back!  
> I realized that I accidentally doubled a passage from the end of chapter five and the beginning of chapter six, because, and this is true, I am a dingus. I've fixed the mistake.   
> Alright, so I've got a few details about betrothal in this chapter that are adjustments on dark age marriages.   
> I hope as ever, you enjoy the new chapter! Kudos, and Reviews are as ever appreciated!

“Do you think your father will simply accept your wishes?” Eowyn asked, taking a seat on a bench.

“With luck,” Lothiriel paced back and forth as Gadrien sat by Eowyn, the pair watching her.

“Your father will ask for a long engagement,” Gadrien finally said.

“Perhaps not. He did not in your case,” Lothiriel pointed out.

“Our fathers had come to terms,” Gadrien said, “And is hardly such a matter of state as this. Elphir took a wife from the nobility of your father’s court. This marriage would be quite different.”

“But your husband is heir to Prince Imrahil,” Eowyn said, “I mean no offense, but was there no push for him to wed for a higher political gain.”

“Dol Amroth is good for trade and Art and Music in peace time,” Lothiriel said in a low voice, “In war we can muster numbers, and hold back corsairs, but besides a great-aunt, the family has not gone far outside our borders for marriage pacts.”

“Grandmother Morwen,” Eowyn said slowly.

“Yes,” Lothiriel said, “

Gadrien nodded to Eowyn, “Lothiriel, you will have to give up all claims to your homelands if you marry King Eomer.”

“My brother will argue that point,” Eowyn said, warningly.

“Why?” Lothiriel asked, “It is simply how things are done. I am currently,” she paused, counting, “Fifth in line to take up the seat in Dol Amroth, technically sixth, if Gadrien fought for a regency. If Valar forbid something happen to literally every other member of my family, and in this hypothetical, I have children after marrying your brother, the people of Dol Amroth might not take kindly to a foreign prince.”

“I grant you it is a far-fetched notion, but in Rohan, women keep anything they own when they enter marriage,” Eowyn said, “and they keep those things as their own, not as their husbands. And upon marriage, or rather the day after,” she smiled, “Brides are given a morning present, which in your case would likely be a good parcel of land. If the marriage is dissolved, or a woman widowed, they keep their properties from before the wedding, their morning gift, and usually a share of anything that would have been jointly gained in the marriage.”

“Well, I wish I would have known that was an option,” Gadrien said, “I feel a sudden need to renegotiate my own marriage.” She thought a moment, “What about dowries?”

“That is an old tradition, and I think Eomer might reject it on the principal, but if he thinks your father would insist, he would pay it.”

Both Lothiriel and Gadrien stared at her.

Eowyn nodded her golden head slowly, “Most of our nobles consider it dishonorable to buy a bride, but for common people that would lose the labor that their daughters contribute-”

“Bridegrooms pay the dowry?” Lothiriel asked.

“Yes,” Eowyn said, confused, “Why should a man be paid to take a wife?”

“The money from my dowry could help stabilize Rohan,” Lothiriel said, “It could be put into farm settlements in the Westfold.”

“More often it goes into our husband’s treasuries,” Gadrien said, “Elphir put mine into restoring our estate.”

“Well, if all goes well and my idiot brother does not create a diplomatic crisis, I will have the sister I always wanted,” Eowyn smiled, and Lothiriel could still see her trying to wrap her mind around having to pay a dowry to a man, “Will I need to pay a dowry to Faramir?”

“Probably not,” Lothiriel said, “He has always found the idea stupid. Though I do wonder at how strange it would be to have my husband’s brother-by-law be my own cousin.”

Eowyn blushed, realizing what she had said, “Perhaps. He has not asked in so many words, but I think we have an understanding.”

“Tragic though it is to lose a father,” Gadrien said in a low voice glancing about, “count your blessings that you never met Lord Denethor. Even at the best of times he was…”

“Unpleasant,” Lothiriel nodded, thinking on her resolved rage over his forceful proposal, “He was ever a beast to Faramir.”

Gadrien gave Lothiriel a knowing look, and said, “He went all the madder when the news came of Boromir’s death.”

“To lose a son is a hard thing,” Eowyn said, “It almost broke my…”

“Your uncle was a better man than mine,” Lothiriel said, trying to comfort her.

Eowyn smiled, “He liked you.”

“We had so few interactions.”

“I think he was more pleased to see Eomer happy.”

Lothiriel smiled, blushing a little. Why was she still blushing? It had been over a month and she still felt warm at the idea that Eomer liked her.

“I heard you made him dance, as cranky as he was about it,” Gadrien teased.

“I doubt he wants that information out,” Eowyn laughed, “I heard some of his men gossiping about it before the battle and he rode past and I thought they were going to faint.”

“Certainly, do not mention it near my daughter, or she might try.”

“Oh, he would gladly dance with a child,” Eowyn laughed, “He is a pushover where little ones are concerned.”

“Lothiriel!” they heard Eomer before they saw him.

“The talk must have gone well,” Eowyn smiled.

He was beaming, running headlong toward her, his face lit by joy. Lothiriel picked up her skirts and ran to him, slowing on approach to curtsy. Before she could manage it, she was swept off her feet his hands about her waist as he lifted her, spinning around with her.

“Your father has approved the match!” he cried out, “He agreed!” Eomer set her back on the ground, his hands moving to clasp her face, and he kissed her sweetly, “Your father will grant me the joy of your hand in six months’ time.”

“He was serious about that?” Lothiriel asked. Normally a betrothal might only last a few months.

“It is no damper to my joy, beloved,” he said, “It is enough that your father has approved,” his grin was infectious. He kissed her again, deep and lovingly.

After a long moment, she pushed him gently back, “My father may have given his consent, but I do not recall that I have.”

He smiled, releasing her, “Lothiriel, princess of Dol Amroth, would you do me the great honor of being my wife?”

Lothiriel paused, “Yes.” She leapt into his arms and peppered his face with kisses, “I love you.”

He held her close, stooping to bury his face in her shoulder, “I have longed to hold you like this.”

“If I had my way, you would hold me even closer,” she teased against his ear.

“Do not tempt me,” he growled, sending a shiver through her, “This is enough for me.”

“You are a strange one.”

“In a few weeks I will need to return home,” he said, pulling back to look at her, his arms keeping their hold on her, “I want to hold you, and recall this moment when I long for your company. I want to think of the taste of your kiss, and know the scent of lilac on your hair, and the way your smile warms my heart.”

She blushed, smiling up at him, and he traced a thumb over one of her dimples a slow gentle touch, and her skin prickled a little. She leaned into the touch, her eyes closing a little. Her beautiful betrothed, so handsome and tender and he was still so careful in the way he touched her.

The words had left her, making clear her feelings, and it seemed to only occur to her now how little it truly changed, because she was sure he already knew it. He was her match, and seemed to expect much of her, not her body, but her mind. In private, he might argue and yell at her, but he would never tell her not to yell back. This man would not bid her to be silent, and to present a pretty image of a queen, even if he disagreed with her.

She smiled, “What are the terms? Did you accept the dowry from my father?”

He hesitated, “I did, but I think it became readily apparent that I did not understand the custom.”

“We can use it to rebuild the Westfold,” she said.

“Would you not rather I build you some great house?”

“I would rather our people have their needs tended before I turn a thought to anything for myself.”

His lips quirked, “’Our people’.”

“In time they will be mine. I should think to turn an eye to their concerns.”

“You seem constantly to turn your eye to the concerns of others.”

“Does that displease you?”

“Of course not. Why should it?” Eomer smiled, “As long as you will not case aside when I tend your needs. I think some of your designs may be futile, but even so, your compassion does you credit.

She blushed, “Hold off on your praise,” she smiled, “my compassion may yet become a thorn in your side.”

“Oh, I am certain. Marriage to you does not present as a simple union.”

She smacked his chest, turning from him as if upset.

He came close behind her, his breath brushing a few hairs by her ear, “I have ever enjoyed a challenge.”

Her blush came hot up her cheeks, and she fought to keep her smile in check. Lothiriel glanced back and saw that the other ladies had gone, leaving her alone with her intended. She shifted back against him, feeling the secure weight of his frame, and she wanted his arms back around her, even if he would take nothing further, she wanted him to pull her close as he could, to feel safe and warm and loved in his embrace.

“I do not think I have been a challenge for you at all,” she said a little teasingly, feeling that he had won over her affections with little effort.

Eomer pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “My little wife-to-be,” his voice taking on a softer tone, “My beautiful wife-to-be,” he turned her to face him, his fingertips tilting her chin up, “and smart into the bargain. I fear that I am by far the winner in the negotiations.”

She shook her head at him, “I think I might find some benefits.”

“Such being?”

“I am getting a husband that is both handsome and amusing when he feels like being so.”

He nodded, “Well, it is not as if I came of age in a time where there was much freedom of time for light-heartedness. There are things I keep secret and close to my heart, as you do, and in time I hope that you will allow me to take you into my confidences, and in turn let me enter yours.” He held her hand in his, pressing it over his heart.

“Six months seems a dreadfully long wait,” she said the mirth leaving her voice. He would be gone so much of that time, with perhaps a visit if they were lucky. What if he found himself unwilling to wait for her? Meduseld had so many lovely ladies in its court, and they all knew the customs of the land, having been born there, “You must promise to write me.”

“I will, but I should warn you I might not be the best at maintaining correspondence,” he said, “But if you write me, I will do my best to reply.”

“I know that you will be busy,” she allowed, “Just something, so I know you have not forgotten me.”

Eomer stared at her, taking a deep breath, “I asked that we wait.”

She stared back at him, “Why? Do you still think that my affections are little more than an infatuation?”

“I would not say in so much as that, but perhaps giving you some time to consider if you truly wish to give up the life you have known is not unwise. Besides that, I wish to know you a little more before we wed. You are a little younger than I, and when you are young, every wait seems interminable.”

“You are only a few years older than I,” she smirked at him, “I will wait, Eomer, but do not think that I mean to change my mind. You had best stop doubting yourself. You are a King now.”

“Sometimes I forget it, still,” he admitted.


	9. Chapter 9

Lothiriel was given in part a small sliver of freedom as her betrothal as announced, the idea being that she was all but married on paper. The actual ceremony and handing over of her person had yet to come to pass. There were whispers behind her back, she knew, but she did her best to ignore them, just a few months and she would leave the gossips behind. There seemed to be some concern as to whether or not the princess liked her suit.

For the next weeks, almost every night, she snuck into Eomer’s rooms to spend time with him, and read a book by him at the desk, and he sometimes would ask her help on some points in his papers/ or ask for some precedent for some matter.

“Are these not state secrets?” she asked.

“Probably,” he rubbed his fingertips over his brow, smirking at her, “But I think I should like to hear the advice of my future queen. You seem far more prepared for this than I have been.”

“Well your advisors will be a help I think as you adjust to your reign.”

“I will need to meet with my uncle’s councilors and see if they are willing to serve me.”

“Why should they not?”

He smiled, “They likely will, but it is tradition to ask.”

Lothiriel looked over the petition from a farmer, “All of these documents are in Westron. Do your people not write in their own tongue?”

Eomer let out a low grunt, “Our cultures have relied on an oral tradition. Most of my people do not read, though they can speak the common tongue.”

She looked at him vaguely confused by the notion of not having a written language. Books were such a pleasure in her life, though she tried to think of it as a cultural difference. Perhaps having their history and epics told by each generation, person to person, might give a more personal touch to the tales of their forefathers.

Eomer looked up at her, a smile spreading across his features.”

“Another demand for a resurvey of two farm properties,” she replied.

He sighed, “I will have a land steward go through the land records before sending anyone out to the farms.”

“Do you get many land disputes?”

“Our country allows for any person to directly petition the King or his lords for justice,” he said, “In almost every village, there is an office where our people may send petition or call for aid.”

“That is wonderful!”

“Until there is a new king, then every cross neighbor sends a petition to me,” Eomer smiled, stretching, “I do hope to serve my people well.”

“I do hope that power does not change you,” she stood, her back creaking a little, and went to rub his shoulders gently. Eomer wrapped an arm around her waist, as he continued reading through the paper in his hand. It was such a domestically simple between them, and Lothiriel smiled at the rightness of it.

Eomer picked up a pen and made a quick note to reply in the morning and to send a folio of decisions back to Edoras in the morning, his arm still wrapped around her.

She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, “Do you want me to refill your cup?”

Eomer grunted in affirmation, giving her hip a squeeze as she left his side and refilled his cup from the decanter. He put his papers in their case and went out into the sitting room, his hand held out to her as she returned with a refreshed cup. He set his glass on the side table, “Will you read to me?”

He enjoyed her reading even when it was not in a language he knew. The Sindarin poetry she had been reading of late was his favorite thus far. Even not knowing the words, he felt as if he might understand the feelings behind them. He wanted to learn the language that was the mother tongue of her kin, as she seemed to be trying to learn his. The ancient language rolled from her lips, feeling like an enchantment over his soul.

He raised his hand to stroke her hair with the back of his fingers.

Lothiriel curled up beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, her feet tucked under her. Her finger trailed over the curling letters as she read, “Do you want me to translate it?” she asked when she reached the end.

“Yes,” he smiled.

She went back, turning the leaves, translating through the text slowly, explaining the tale of two lovers separated by the distance of the world and the long struggle to rejoin their souls. The language was flowery, and Eomer could never put words together the way those had been done.

He watched her face as she spoke, her eyes moving over the page. The love he felt for her was passionate and he held it carefully, still fearing that he might scare her away if he moved too quickly toward her. But this contentment was a wonder.

He pressed his lips to the side of her forehead, and he was rewarded with another smile, and he was happy that they lived at the same point in time and that the twists of fate had brought them into each other’s presence. There had been moments when he had thought that she should have been born in a different time of peace, and that her need for optimism was at best misguided, and at worst maliciously ignorant, but in time he knew that it was some affected need to protect herself.

She closed her book and gave him a long, gentle kiss, and when she pulled back, she rested her head against his chest.

Eomer stroked his hand over her back, holding her close, “Are you tired?”

“A little,” she admitted, “But I do not want to go back just yet. May I stay a little longer?”

“Of course,” he stroked her cheek, “if we were home, I would take no issue with you sleeping in my room. It would not be the first time you had slept in my bed.”

She smacked her hand against his chest, chuckling, “I should hope you have not been telling people that.”

“I do not think that private things need be made public,” Eomer said, seriously, “I know you jest, but you should know that I am a private person. I should not like to be the subject of rumor, though there is little enough that I may do about that.”

“You are a King,” she replied, “Your country might be different from mine, but gossip transcends all culture.”

He grunted taking a drink, before holding the glass to her lips. The mead was sweet, and he wiped a droplet from her lips with his tongue.

“I should think that your station would render you unmoved by the prattle of your courtiers,” Lothiriel blushed, “I would not imagine the opinions of others would weigh on your mind at all.”

He knew that she was baiting him into making an admission, to confide that things said being his back held any sway, and that he struggled. The hesitation gave her pause, and he could see her wondering if she should have held her tongue.

“I know I should not care for the opinions of others, but the need to pretend that words have no effect on me is tiring,” he admitted watching her, “It has always been tiring.”

“Even now?”

“Ever has it been,” he said, “My spirit is not made to suffer insult quietly. When the path to the throne was not a certainty, my temperament was not so much a hinderance, but now I find that I must think before I speak, and I have to hold back the actions that seem natural to me.”

Her fingertips ran over his cheekbone, “I fear that is the trouble of status, my love. I know that cage well. But you must know that I like your temperament.”

He leaned into the fingers touching his face, his eyes closing a little, “Even when I am given to violent tempers? I do not think you have yet seen so.”

Lothiriel kneeled, leaning close to him, “I have lived my life struggling to hold my own temper at bay, but you have seen some small part of it.”

“You almost dislocated the shoulder of that fop,” Eomer remarked, approvingly, “an excellent use of applied pressure. It would seem that even in your rages you are well controlled.”

“Are your rages not so?”

He set his cup down, the better to hold her, “You think it would be some epic, fabled thing to behold.”

“No. I think that it would be a simple enough thing, as all such things are. But you should know that should you think to turn such fury on me, I will return in kind.”

“Perhaps I should I like that,” he said in a low voice, his eyes burning a little, “That fire seems to burn bright, and I knew it was there, but to see it is different.”

“Do you wish me to start brawls in the court, then?”

He smiled, “I wish to see your passions in all of their forms.”

“Oh?” her hips shifted a little.

His hands caught about her waist, and pulled her to sit in his lap, “I think that we make a fine pair, little lioness,” his fingers at the back of her neck drew her lips to his, his fingers twining into her black braid, her body pulled flush against his. She smiled against his lips, his tongue trailing over her lips for a moment, before pulling back to look at her. He shifted her braid over her shoulder, his fingertips stroking the skin where her shoulder and neck met, tracing the pale expanse of skin.

“May I kiss you here?” he asked.

She blushed a little, “Yes.”

Eomer smiled, leaning forward to nuzzle at the sensitive skin and she fought not to squirm as he breathed in the smell of her skin. He dragged his lips over her skin before pressing a few long kisses there. The color rose over her shoulders and face at his attention. His beard scratched and prickled her, eliciting a small giggle from her.

“Does that please you?” he asked, his voice sounding like a growl, even as she could hear a smile in it.

“Yes, my lord,” she bit her lip.

The dark eyes he turned on her were wolfish, and she wondered if he meant to take a bite out of her. “Good,” he said in a low voice. He ran a fingertip down from her collarbone down to the top of her nightgown slowly, before stroking the back of his fingertips over the exposed skin there.

She looked at him, not knowing why he was doing this, but she liked the way it felt.

Eomer looked up suddenly, as if he had not realized that he had actually been touching her so intimately, “It is getting late.”

She wanted to whine and tell him to touch her, and that she wanted to stay here with him, but she knew he was right, and slipped from his lap. He helped her to her feet and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips before ushering her out.


	10. Chapter 10

Aunt Ivriniel looked over Lothiriel’s stitching with a small tutting noise, “Your spacing are improving, but there is too much tension here. Pull it out and start again.”

Lothiriel sighed, taking her embroidery frame back and began plucking the stitches out with the eye end of her needle. She had never been as good at this as her father liked to boast.

Gadrien shot her an apologetic look, before her face turned to the open balcony, a look on her face, “Do you hear something?”

Lothiriel opened her mouth to say she hadn’t when they heard the scream. The three women ran to the balcony, panic coming over Gadrien’s face, contorting it in the horror of a mother.

Mithriel was charging at Eomer with a wooden sword, Alphros thrown over Eomer’s shoulder.

Elphir sat up from his place on the grass, “Mithriel, do not swing at His Majesty’s knees!”

“Ada! You’re dead! Dead goblins can’t talk!” Alphros called back.

“Oh, I forgot,” Elphir lay back down, adjusting the sword under his arm to find a more comfortable spot for his nap.

Eomer settled Alphros down on his feet, swinging his arms and growling at the children like a goblin.

Gadrien pressed a hand over her heart, “I had thought…”

“Clearly your children are in grave danger,” Lothiriel laughed, learning against the balcony. Her sister-in-law joining her in watching the children do battle. Alphros ran over to his father and grabbed the wooden sword from his clearly fatal would and ran back to aid his sister as Eomer grabbed her and pretended to loudly gobble her up. Alphros went in for the kill, and Eomer dropped to his knees, carefully putting Mithriel down before he dramatically falling to the ground, groaning as if he were dying.

The children laughed for a moment but slowly the hesitated when Eomer did not stand back up. They stepped nervously toward him, as if they were afraid that they had hurt him. Eomer leapt up, growling as the children screamed, sending them running away. He scooped Mithriel up and tossed her in the air before catching her.

Lothiriel smiled, wanting to watch this forever.

“Mama!” Mithriel called, waving, “Come play!”

0x0x0

Eomer pulled her into his arms, holding her tight for a long moment, and leaving his men waiting. He had to return home, and Lothiriel wished for a moment that he would throw her over his shoulder and take her with him, to ride off into the plains with her lover, but it was a foolish romantic notion. She pressed her head against his heartbeat. Just half a year and then they would be wed, and she could have him to herself as her husband, and she could not sleep in a cold bed unless he was called from her, “Please write to me,” she pleaded.

“I am not gifted with words,” he said so softly, “But I will do my best.”

She wrapped her arms back around him, and his cheek was against the top of her head.

“You promise you will come back to me?” she asked, she had hidden a small portrait of her in his things the last time she had visited his room. It was like the ones of her family she had carried when she traveled from her home, and she thought it a good enough of a likeness, if a little flat. She had thought to hand it to him, but had not managed it, feeling too awkward.

“Of course, corenu,” he pulled back and cradled her cheeks in his hands, “I will come and visit you in a few months, and I will expect to find you well,” he smiled, “and I will cover you over with kisses, my sweet heart.” His smile was small, but present as he looked over her face, a careful finger teasing a curl down to her eyes, brushing it a little aside.

“Why?” she asked, smiling.

“It will drive your father absolutely mad,” Eomer smiled at her, pressing a kiss to where the curl lay.

She grinned up at him, “Your men are waiting.”

Eomer nodded, “Give me one last kiss to last me through the nights without you.”

“How terribly sentimental of you,” she murmured, trailing a finger over his chest plate, casting a coy look up at him under her lashes

“Hold your tongue, vixen,” he pulled her hard against him, his arms tightening about her waist, and pulling her from her feet to the level of his lips. It wasn’t the gentle kisses that he often gave her, but one of the stronger, more forceful ones that he had begun to give her, hard and passionate, and full of an elicit longing.

She smacked at his shoulder, playfully, grinning through the blush on her cheeks as he set her back down, pressing a lighter kiss to his cheek.

“I love you,” he said, earnestly, catching her hand in his and placing it against his cheek for a moment.

“I love you,” she said quietly, looking at his smiling face and wanting to chain him up some place, but it was another of her stupid fantasies.


	11. Chapter 11

Two long months passed, and Lothiriel wondered if she had made some grave mistake. At best, he sent notes, brief missives if he remembered to write at all, and Princess Lothiriel felt as if she was insane with her own doubt. Had it been some imagined romance, or some easy game?

“Did my brother tell you that he was an idiotic oaf?” Eowyn asked, looking up from the work that she had been struggling though, smiling as she sensed the anxiety coming off of her friend’s shoulder in rolling waves.

“He did,” Lothiriel said, pacing slowly before the window, “What if he has met someone else?”

“The Court at Meduseld is not so large as the ones here. He has already met everyone,” Eowyn teased, trying to lay Lothiriel’s fears to rest. She was honestly beginning to worry about her friend.

“Then perhaps he re-met someone.”

“My brother is many things, but honorable is one of those things. If his attentions had turned from you, he certainly would have written you so.”

Lothiriel shot her a look, her eyes full of a cold rage.

Eowyn held her hand out to fend off the anger, “Do not give me that face, my lady.”

“I thought when he said that he was an idiot, he meant in the simple normal way that most men seem to be. Not in the way that will ensure that I will lose my mind.”

“But you do look lovely,” Eowyn teased, “Have you done something different with your hair? Finger combing perhaps?”

Lothiriel chuckled, dropping to sit next to Eowyn who was doing her best to embroider a handkerchief. The white lady had not mangled it so terribly as she seemed to think she had. Lothiriel took the offered frame to fix a few of the stitches, “Should I even speak to you of this? He is your brother, after all.”

“Of course, dear friend. Who else may assure you that you are not a madwoman? I am more than willing to knock some sense into his head should you wish. You deserve better.”

“So, you do not think that I should marry him?”

“Do not mistake me. I think that you seem made for each other, but the distance makes it difficult.”

Lothiriel handed the frame back, “I am sorry.”

“What for?” Eowyn smiled, “Have you never been in love before?”

Lothiriel grimaced.

Eowyn laughed, “No?”

“I have been infatuated, and I have been… not this.” Lothiriel trusted Eomer, but she felt so isolated in the palace, left to sort through her household finances and social calls, but little else. She felt stifled. Lothiriel forced a smile, “How do you find Faramir?”

“He is most considerate. I am truly blessed with a future husband that is not so much a fool,” Eowyn smirked smugly.

Lothiriel pushed Eowyn’s shoulder teasingly.

“It will be alright,” Eowyn pressed on, “Proud as Eomer is, he knows when he has done wrong, and will make amends. Though may I suggest you make your displeasure clear to him?”

“Should I? I do not want to seem a bother. I am proud as he and should not wish to let him think me so weak.”

“How else would he know to correct his behavior?” Eowyn looked at her, “Come along. You need to take the air. Let us go for a ride.”

The princesses rode with a light guard through the low shore outside of the city, and Lothiriel was hesitant to admit that perhaps Eowyn had been correct. They settled to take some lunch along the seashore, let the sea breeze brush their hair back.

“Thank you,” Lothiriel said in a low voice.

“Do not thank me. You have saved me from needlepoint by your assent to come out,” Eowyn smiled, but kept a watchful eye on her friend. Lothiriel was a few years younger than she, and sometimes Eowyn forgot it, for she seemed so calmly confident. “Perhaps you should take the air more regularly.”

Faramir had told her of his mother, Prince Imrahil’s sister Finduilas, and of her slow fading from life, and wondered at the parallel to her own mother, even if no great tragedy had set off this decline. Eowyn wondered if such melancholic tendencies had been passed through their shared bloodline, Aunt to niece.

0x0x0

It was a strange thing to see Anthel going through her correspondences. Lothiriel had gotten herself out of bed and had opened the door into her sitting room and saw her handmaid studying her letters with fascination, turning them each other in her hands.

“What do you think you are doing?” Lothiriel asked, her voice sharp.

Anthel for her part, once the shock passed made no excuse for her behavior, but stood there dumbly staring at the princess, as if calculating a response to long in the coming.

“Well?” Lothiriel asked, staring her down and snatching her letters out of the maid’s hand.

“Before Your Highness does anything, I should think you would wish to speak to your aunt,” Anthel said in a quiet voice, her chin jutting out.

“And why should I do that?” Lothiriel asked, the answer already forming in her mind, but she would make this wretch say it.

Anthel made no answer, but her eyes narrowed dangerously at Lothiriel, and the princess wanted to slap her across her smug face.

“Then go and see if she decent and will speak to me. I will dress myself.”

Lothiriel pulled a simple day dress on, laced under her arm, her face set in rage as she waited for her aunt to come explain why she had put a spy in Lothiriel’s own rooms.

Ivriniel knocked at her bedroom, before peaking her head into the room, “So, shall we have this out?”

“How long has she been spying for you?” Lothiriel demanded.

“I only seek to ensure that your reputation is beyond reproach,” Ivriniel settled into a chair by the window, “and to be sure that you are not receiving any undue letters.”

“Has she been reading my letters, then?”

Ivriniel hesitated, “If you mean to remove her from your service, there might be the issue of gossip.”

Lothiriel glowered at her aunt, “You expect me to find a snake in my shoe and keep it there?”

“If you kept yourself in bed at night, we would not be having this conversation at all.”

“What is she doing in my rooms at night?”

“Do not change the topic,” Ivriniel said, as if this invasion of her privacy should not be a topic of discussion at all, “I have kept this little secret of yours, and I will continue to do so, but I cannot speak for Anthel.”

A new tactic occurred to Lothiriel as she stood there, pacing in her rage. She stopped in front of her aunt, “I am betrothed,” Lothiriel said, “and I doubt that if this got out, it would change that at all. The rumor would be that I went to the bed of my future husband, because I went to his rooms to help him with his affairs, and correspondences, or else to spend time with him.” Lothiriel raised her brow at Ivriniel, “It may even curry me favor with his people, that my affections are true, and that my loyalty is so firm that would put my reputation in danger.”

Ivriniel smirked, “And what will your father say?”

“He may have me prodded again, if you both take no stock in my words over a spying servant,” Lothiriel straightened her back, “I want her out of my household. I will find my own handmaid, and I do not want my affairs further tampered with at all, aunt.”

The elder princess nodded, “Does it not trouble you that he writes so little?”

“No,” Lothiriel lied, betraying nothing, at the cheap barb. “He is busy with affairs of state.”

“Of course, he is,” Ivriniel smiled sadly at her niece, and Lothiriel wondered if she had been receiving all of Lothiriel’s letters though Anthel’s reports.

“Do not take that patronizing tone with me, aunt,” Lothiriel snapped, “What purpose would there even be the purpose of having a spy in my rooms?”

“Because I love you, child,” her aunt looked as if she had not considered her actions out of the norm, or harmful in anyway, “There are few ways that I can offer you protection. Through information, women may claim power and control in our lives.”

“And you think you have succeeded? You think your smothering, and spying, and control has protected me?!” Lothiriel asked.

“Not as well I as should like.”

“Have you been reporting on me to my father?”

“Only when it might prove necessary.”

Lothiriel stood back up, pacing, and wondering how much Ivriniel knew. What had her reported entailed? She had an idea of her aunt sitting at her desk with all of her spies giving information to her as she wrote out detailed reports for her own keeping until an advantageous moment came where she could drop her sheets on her brother’s desk with a smirk. Did she know about the attempted attack on her person those long years past? She clearly knew that Lothiriel had been sneaking off to Eomer’s rooms at night. What else did she know? She turned at looked at her aunt, a questioning look on her face.

“I would advise your peers to clean up after themselves when they leave a room,” Ivriniel said, smirking a little conspiratorially.

“Does father know?”

“Oh, well… not that this sort of thing is still happening. Your minute acts of rebellion were not started with your generation, not even in ours,” Ivriniel smiled, “But I should think that we at least had the decency to hide our actions better.”

Lothiriel smirked at the idea of her father and his sisters sneaking out of their rooms at night to drink themselves silly. She sat by her aunt’s side, looking away from her, feeling the older woman’s hand on her back, stroking between her shoulder blades as the muscles tensed, her betrayal not forgotten so easily.

“I will find a place for Anthel, and we will find a new maid for you, but who will tend to you until then?”

“I will ask Eowyn to find me a girl in Edoras when she returns. I will need someone there anyway, and I can begin training her now,” Lothiriel said, quietly.

“And until then?”

“I can dress myself.”

Aunt Ivriniel looked horrified by the notion but said nothing, clearly judging that her niece would broker no further words from her yet. Cooler heads may yet prevail, but she could still see the flicker of rage in Lothiriel’s cool grey eyes.

She would ask Gadrien if she could borrow her girl when it was absolutely necessary that her hair and dress be made ornate, but in a small way, this seemed like a grace to her.

0x0x0

A few weeks later, Eowyn had returned to Edoras to finish arranging for her possessions to be brought to Ithilien for her wedding, and her life there.

Eomer hugged his sister, and she noted that he looked well enough, but tired, “How is Lothiriel?” he asked after she regaled him with her adventures in the south, settling back at the high table in the hall for the evening meal.

“She is a nervous wreck,” Eowyn said, honestly, “And you are little enough help. You had best write her more regularly.”

“I have been busy,” he said, but she could see the guilt in his face, “I will send her a letter soon.”

“She is concerned that you have fallen out of love with her, and I do not wonder if her aunt does not have some part in that,” Eowyn watched her brother, not sure how to voice her concerns about his wife-to-be without making his feel all the worse for his inaction. She looked more carefully, and noted some bruising on his knuckles, and a healing scratch at the side of his neck. She wondered who her brother had been fighting and why. What else was he not telling her?

“I thought Ivriniel approved of the marriage,” Eomer said, confused.

“I am not sure if she is doing so intentionally, but I am hardly in her confidence. Lothiriel dismissed her maid for being one of Ivriniel’s spies. Apparently, the girl was going through her letters every morning and reporting on her movements.”

“Bema, save us all from domestic dramas,” Eomer slumped back in his chair, rubbing his brow irritably.

“Indeed. I will try to find her a replacement while I am here and take her south with me.”

Eomer looked up a moment, feeling for a moment that he might be useful, “I might have someone for the job.”


	12. Chapter 12

Heohild was unremarkable among the women of Rohan, young and pretty with yellow hair pulled sensibly back and green eyes, but she had a warm smile and an acceptable curtsy.

“Have you worked as a handmaid before?” Lothiriel asked, looking over the letter of introduction from Eomer.

“I worked for Mistress Gleoburh for a few months.”

“Were you dismissed?”

“Yes, your highness.”

Lothiriel looked up, somewhat startled by the admission but did not show it, wanting to keep the girl comfortable with her honesty, “And for what reason?”

“I was accused of theft, but I swear, your highness I am innocent. It was her lord nephew stealing her jewelry to pay his gambling debts.”

Lothiriel smiled a little, “And I suppose you sought out the King’s Justice?” Eowyn had mentioned that Eomer had been a help in finding a handmaid, but Lothiriel thought to laugh out loud at his attempt at multitasking. Perhaps he truly was busy as that after all, but it was an act of kindness to give her another chance, even if Lothiriel was not sure she wanted to have her household used for such purposes.

Heohild smiled a little, “He found in my favor.”

“Well, at least you will not have learned too many bad habits from your former mistress,” Lothiriel looked over the list of her skills and training again, “And any learned can be unlearned easily enough.”

“I have not served a princess before.”

“Well, be not so nervous, I mean to adopt the Rohirric ways once I move there. You will be some help to me on that accord. Lady Eowyn is teaching me the language and decorum, but dress and otherwise styling is something that I need to learn yet.”

Heohild looked somewhat surprised.

“You know why I asked for a handmaid from Rohan, surely,” Lothiriel said, her features composed, even as she wondered if perhaps no one in Rohan knew that their king was to be married. Perhaps he had kept it a secret, then?

“Yes, my lady,” Heohild smiled nervously, “You are betrothed, and are to be our Queen. I only mean that… well you seem to have such lovely things. Why would you cast them aside?”

“Most of them are dreadfully uncomfortable,” Lothiriel smile widened, “I should adapt myself to my new homelands, though I am certain there is already some great outcry against me.”

“Oh no, my lady. At most there is some irritated grumbling.”

“Who from?”

Heohild blanched as if afraid that she had spoken out of turn, “A few of the older lords, but- Perhaps I should not say.”

“Oh, were you not told?” Lothiriel smiled, “Part of your job is to give me fresh gossip, especially if you should not say.”

“Well… Eomer King told the whole assembly that he had made up his mind to marry you, my lady, and that they ought to content themselves to it, and that if he heard an ill talk on your account, they’d have his boot for it.”

Lothiriel laughed. Oh, Eomer… whatever would she do with him? If she left him alone for long enough, perhaps he would revert to punching his way through his problems. But it was a sweet notion, and it restored her confidence in some part, to think that her lover would break his own peace for her, even if it was a counterintuitive idea.

“May I ask, my lady, is it truly a love match?”

“Is that people are saying?”

“Some do, but others say it is all politic.”

Lothiriel thought a moment, “It is a love match, but there are political benefits for both of our lands.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“Do you have a sweetheart?” Lothiriel asked, wanting to know how long she could count on keeping this girl in her service.

“Well no, I should not think to call him so.”

“Why not?”

“Baldor, he works in the king’s stables, is so very kind to me.”

Lothiriel smiled at the girl, setting aside the papers, “Well, do be careful of those stable boys,” she teased. Heohild blushed crimson, and scrambled to explain herself, even as Lothiriel waved her words off, “I am not your mother or your nursemaid. Whatever you do with your personal time is no concern of mine. I think you will serve me well,” Lothiriel stood, walking to her wardrobe, “Now, Lady Eowyn and my brother’s wife have been helping me sort through my clothes for anything that I might not need. I swear though those two are in truth vultures,” she teased, smiling to make it clear that she took no offense. She looked at Heohild, gauging her size, and running her hand over a few simpler dresses that did not quite fit her well, and would be appropriate. She took one dress down and handed it to the young girl, “Try this one.”

Heohild for her part had been staring wide eyed around the small space at all of the fine textures and materials, her face brightening at the dark blue velvet dress, “Oh, thank you, Your Highness. Oh, I forgot,” she took a folded piece of paper from the purse that hung from her belt and held it out to Lothiriel.

Lothiriel checked the king’s seal for any disturbance or resetting as had become her habit, but found none, “thank you,” she went to sit by the window, and broke the seal, unfolding a few large sheets of parchment. She smiled a little, and folded the letter back up and put it between the pages of a book by her bed. She would read it when she was getting ready for bed.

0x0x0

_“My dear, Lothiriel,_

_It has been brought to my attention that I have failed you these past weeks, as though I were not already aware of my own short comings, and I have a hope that I will able to rectify this injustice. Though I could claim in my own defense that you were forewarned that I am not so skilled with my words as you are due, though I fear that defense would offer little assurance that I will be met still with your affections, and not with a brutal attack to which you would be rightfully disposed._

_I should hope that you would understand that my affections remain entirely unchanged toward you whatever, and should you in anyway doubt my earnestness, it would feel alike death to me. I miss you terribly, and find the occupation of ruling, while all consuming, and leaving me little time for any other activity, has done little to distract me. At this moment, I am meant to be reviewing an act of policy that would ensure relief for the farmers of the Westfold, and though in large stripes, I agree, the finer details of ensuring a success in this venture elude me._

_I wish you were here, for I am somehow certain you would make sense of this, and that with your eye for detail, the act would have little chance of failure. I have nothing of myself that I may tell you that would not be so terribly boring, or that you would likely care to know at all. My days are an unending stream of council meetings, and meeting with advisors, and has been since my return here. I should have made it clear that the brevity of my letters thus far has been so only because I have so little to share of interest._

_Your letters seem so full of your own nature, and to receive them has been a blessing to my tired soul, and without them, I might take few joys at present. With time, I am certain that the weight of my rule with lighten, but at present, it presents an unbearable burden._

_This letter has been entrusted to good woman Heohild to bring to your hand and no other, as an assurance of her integrity. She seems an honest girl, though perhaps she talks more than would be deemed wise. I hope she pleases you, as I thought that you might approve of ensuring that she has a place, and an opportunity to prove herself, and to work._

_Pray, do not be irritated with me any longer, and be assured of your place in my heart, for you will not need fear any rival on that account. Eowyn has spoken to me of a concern for you, and I should admit to feeling shame that such anxieties are of my own making, my dear love. I keep your portrait as among the dearest of my possessions and I await the day when I may see your shining face again in true form, looking back at me with a tenderness that would cause an ache in my soul to protect it._

_All of my love,_

_Eomer”_

Lothiriel snuggled in her bed, reading and rereading the letter, feeling a sense of relief but also guilt that she had so worried for no cause. Perhaps she might have another letter from him, and it would be at such a length. She pressed her lips to the parchment for a moment, before tucking it into a box with the other, briefer notes, and carefully locked the box, and hid the key in one of her books.


	13. Chapter 13

Another month had passed and Eomer had done his best to write her more regularly, though in her mind, she could imagine him starting to write and then staring off into space, trying to find the right words. He was a dear man, and she felt guilty still that she had doubted him even a little.

She sat at her desk; the long windows open to let in the cooler air from the sea.

_“My darling, Eomer,_

_I am pleased to hear that you are well, but I fear you have made a grave error in showing that you are in fact capable of writing more than a few sentences at a time, for now I shall ever expect you to do so. I must wish you luck in keeping your future wife satisfied. I think you know by now that I am quite particular and will be trying when my needs are not met._

_The summer sun is bright here, and my brothers have made themselves quite annoying on the manner of their skiffs and sails and have dragged me out on the water more times than I can count. Of course, I being a lady are of little help on such short voyages, or so we tell our lord father. He and my aunt only agree that I may go so long as I do not take too much of the sun, leaving me for the most part under a canopy with a healthy supply of wine, which I must admit suits me well._

_If we are able to get the boats far enough out, I can jump off the side and go for a swim in the sea, and Father and Aunt Ivriniel pretend not to know, for I think they have learned better than to correct me, as any finishing I might have had has been lost to me._

_It is not done for a lady of my age and rank to swim in the sea, even if I am still clothed in some light fabric, so as not to be dragged down by the weight of my fine heavy dresses. It would cause quite a scandal I am certain if anyone should see me thus, dripping wet in linen, as it clings terribly when wetted.”_

She paused a moment, wondering if that was pushing it too far. She had taken to putting little passages in her letters that alluded in some small way to her person, a mention of a twisted ankle, or the pain in her hip, minor inconveniences of no real concern in her body that would in turn make him think of those parts of her. Her pen twirled between her fingers as she debated burning the letter and starting fresh, rather than sending it. Heohild had done well so far in assuring that her letters were sent without being opened by anyone else, handing them directly to the ambassador from Rohan.

There had been no indication since Anthel had been removed from her service that anyone was going through her correspondences, but if anyone did, they would read this as wanton drivel, and she would be given a lecture, Lothiriel was certain.

On the other hand, it might drive Eomer to distraction.

That clenched her decision neatly, she smirked to herself, writing on.

_“I look forward to seeing you in Ithilien next month, and I hope that you will take the same comfort in a few days that we might share in the same place, and that warmth and contentment might help me to withstand the few months left of this betrothal that seems so unending._

_I pray you are finding more comfort in your role as King and finding how to shape your country in the rightly way that you imagine, bringing strength and stability where needed to our people, and that my council has thus far been of help to you._

_Know that as ever, I love you, and I send my affections with this letter,_

_Lothiriel.”_

0x0x0

Had she not some certainty that her father would have someone snatch her back up to her rooms by her hair, Lothiriel would have run down to Eomer as soon as he and his men came to Ithilien. It had been three long months since she had last seen him, and she wondered if it would feel strange to see him again, or if there would be some awkwardness. She prayed that it would feel as if no time had passed at all. Her family would receive him in due course, as was expected, even as she leaned against the window, watching him from the rooms Faramir had set aside for her. Her cousin had teased that perhaps it could be arranged to room his future brother-in-law in the rooms beside hers, but of course, that honor went to her aunt.

One of Eomer’s men bowed, and said something to him, gesturing up to her window, and his golden head tilted back to find her. She waved a hand to him, smiling down, feeling her heart squeeze in her chest. She would wait until he came to call, as she reminded herself was proper to do.

She felt someone behind her, and looked up at Erchirion, smiling, “Your friend has returned to us,” she teased.

“I fear it would not be me that his first thought would go to,” her brother retorted, bumping his shoulder against hers.

“Of course not, for he is here for his sister’s wedding,” Lothiriel smirked.

“Our aunt is so excited for all of these weddings coming, that I think when they are all through, she might turn her designs to finding me a wife.”

“May the Valar help whatever poor lady is tasked with that arrangement.”

Erchirion pressed a hand over his heart, “You wound me, sister.”

She rolled her eyes at him, turning from the window as Eomer’s golden head passed from her sight, taking his arm, watching Erchirion face a little. He had seemed to be coming back into himself, as Eomer had had assured her that he would. There were still moments where she could see a small tremble in his shoulders, and at such times, he would make his excusing and withdrawing. His hand held his hand over hers, giving her a simple assurance of he was alright.

The door opened as Amrothos peered into her rooms, smirking, teasing her, “ah, no tricks, or escapes?” he asked, his smile softening.

“Did our dear aunt want to be sure I have not slipped out through the window?” she asked, smirking back.

“Perhaps a little” Amrothos smirked, peering through the window a moment, looking about the front of the house.

Lothiriel shook her head, preparing a few small servings of tea as she settled against the chaise, certain that her entire family was far too concerned with her business. But there was little enough that she could do or say that would not cause her more trouble than it might be deemed worth the effort, even as her fought the instinct to blush and find her own plans and she tried to find some solution that would keep her occupied. She took a seat by the window, as she opened her sewing box, and took her embroidery frame, and took up the works, smiling at the jokes between her brothers as the rest of her family joined her, helping themselves to tea and coffee.


	14. Chapter 14

“I have missed you,” Eomer said in a low voice, sitting beside her.

Lothiriel smiled, looking at the frame in her hands, trying not to blush in full view of her entire family. He had been allowed to sit by her side, but it seemed that no one in the family thought that anyone else could be trusted to properly chaperone them, and so every member of her immediate family that was not in the nursery were sitting about the room.

She thought it foolish that they were chaperoned at all, being only a few months now from wedded, but there was little she could do, but sit demurely, stitching away as they spoke in low voices, his knee pressing hers for a moment. He had kissed her hand upon seeing her, and she had wanted to fall into his arms, but she knew that would not be decent, and would be embarrassing besides. She wanted to kiss him and rest her head on his shoulder. The best that could be managed was that his knee touched hers.

“And I, you,” she fumbled the needle again, pricking her finger for who knows how many times in the few minutes since he had joined her, and did her best not to wince, and shot him a preemptive look to quiet his concern as soon as she saw it there.

He was looking at her so tenderly, that she could hardly stand it, his eyes taking her in as if studying some long-missed piece of art he had seen long ago and knew well but needed to refresh the details of in his mind.

“How fares your farm works?” she asked, trying to find something of substance to say.

“Well enough,” he admitted, “Though it may take a harvest or two to have the Westfold back where it was before the war.”

“Have they began rebuilding the settlements already?”

“Insofar as is possible. It is slow progress, and we mean to have as much done as we can before the winter comes. We have been having a devil of a time rehousing the villagers.”

“Where are they staying now?”

“We have found temporary housing through the country, but most are eager to help rebuild, and have gone forth to aid in the project.”

“What a hearty people you all are,” she teased.

“We pay them for their labor and give them a sense of purpose besides,” Eomer cast a look to her family, noting that no one was looking, and he quickly smoothed his fingers down the back of her neck, sending a thrill through her. She nudged him with her foot, biting her lip to stop herself laughing at his recklessness. He smirked at her, dropping his hand back to his lap, “And how are you finding your new handmaid? Did I do well?”

“She is acceptable, I suppose,” she smirked back at him.

“Acceptable?” he asked, his face cloudy until he caught her smile, his own smile broadening. There was a dusting of freckles over her nose and cheeks now, from the sun that she had been taking, and he wondered if they had always been there, so faint he had not noticed, or if he had forgotten. No, he had remembered every detail of her, even that there were a few slivers of green in her eyes. His hand touched her for a moment, the side of his fingers smoothing gently at hers, the small smile she gave him thrummed at his heart.

The door opened and one of his older Lords, Leodig, stood there, his head bowed, “Your Majesty, there is a matter that requires your attention as presently as you are able.”

Of course there was, he let out a low sigh, and stood, pressing another kiss to the back of her hand, irritated, “I will be there is a moment, my lord,” Eomer forced a polite tone to his voice, pushing his annoyance down and out of sight. Could he not have a few hours to himself? “I am sorry, my lady,” he pressed her fingers so gently, “May I perhaps return later?”

“Of course, my lord,” she smiled, only a little irritated. Of course, he had his duties, and of course these things would be more important that her yet. Lothiriel wondered a moment if this would forever be the way that things would be, but she smiled as if she had not even considered that she would become less and less important to him as time passed. It was a foolish concern, and she refused to allow herself to fall prey to it.

“We do have other engagements,” Prince Imrahil interjected, politely, “But you will see us at table, Your Majesty.”

Eomer smiled, and bowed, taking his leave, somewhat confused as to the strange tension between the Prince and his daughter, but said nothing.

“Why should he not come back?” Lothiriel asked as soon as the door closed, “Whatever calls him away may take only a moment.”

“Doubtful,” Imrahil replied, settling back to his letters, elaborating no further.

Elphir shot a look at Lothiriel, before offering his wife his arm, “Let us take a walk, my dear,” leading Gadrien from the room, and using her as a cover to leave such discomfort.

“May I speak with father alone please?” Lothiriel asked, standing, wanting to know what had put a thorn in her father’s temperament, and wishing not to make the entire family sit through what they seemed sure would be an uncomfortable conversation. She stared at him, even as he did not return her gaze, the rest of the family leaving in turn.

She crossed her arms, waiting for an explanation as she stood in front of his desk.

Imrahil took his pen up, making a few notations, and pursed his lips as he turned a page over, sparing her a brief glance, “You will comport yourself appropriately while we are here.”

“As ever,” she said, struggling to keep her voice calm and level, “Have you been disappointed in me? I have publicly, and in our society done everything that had been expected of me.”

“You are not to wander off,” Imrahil said, folding his hands in front of him, “not while we are in company, and not when you believe the entire house has retired for the evening. Is that understood?”

Lothiriel for a moment felt ashamed of herself, but then in a quick moment recalled that she did not actually care, “I have not brought any dishonor on our family, if that is your concern.”

“Have you not? Do you think yourself such a little sneak that no one knows that you had snuck around the citadel like a trollop?” Imrahil stood, leaning over the desk at her, “By luck and grace alone, your reputation has not been damaged in some serious way.”

“I only offered to help him with the issues of law and policy,” she replied, and that had been most of it beside. “Lord Eomer is a man of honor.” She did not need to add that she would have gladly thrown herself into his bed without concern.

“That may be so, but you will not embarrass me here. Is that understood?” Her father rounded the desk, standing close as if to make his point.

“I am not a child anymore, father,” she replied, her tone hardening, “You shall not continue to tell me what I may and may not do. I will have more in my life than ensuring that you are pleased with me and thank the Valar for that, for I wonder if I have lived at all for the cage you would keep me in.”

The slap was a surprise, more for the sound that the sting. It has not been hard, but enough to silence her for a moment. She stared back at her father, shocked, and more so when she saw his calm countenance.

“You are still my daughter,” he said levelly, “and I have been more than fair with you, but my patience with your antics draws short. Until you become Rohan’s problem, you will perform the functions expected of you. You will be a dutiful princess, and you will remember you place. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Lothiriel said all but vibrating with rage, curtsying and leaving the room for her own chambers.

She sat on the edge of her bed, staring through the window at the forest and the sky, her hands shaking a little, though she didn’t know if the tears breaking at her eyes were from embarrassment or fury.

“My lady, are you alright?” Heohild asked, seeing her mistress.

Lothiriel opened her mouth to speak, but simply nodded instead, swallowing past the lump in her throat, “Just another day.”

“Can I bring you anything?”

“No, thank you,” Lothiriel wiped her cheeks with her hands, “Worry not over me. I am being silly.”

Heohild hesitated a moment before resting a hand on Lothiriel’s shoulder. It was such a comforting that Lothiriel wanted to wrap her arms around the girl, “I can get a sword, if you should need,” Heohild teased.

Lothiriel laughed, “So tempting, but alas, it is a small family matter.”

Heohild sat next to her, silent, but present. She would listen if Lothiriel wanted to talk, and simply sit by her if she did not.

0x0x0

The wedding was lovely, and Lothiriel was so happy for the couple. They seemed to move in tandem together, connected at their hips as they moved together through the wedding feast, speaking to their guests and laughing to each other.

“Your family have a way of making things feel awkward,” Eomer said, by her ear, startling Lothiriel a little, “They seem unwilling to have you out of the line of sight of someone of their house.”

“Such is their way,” she smiled, offering her hand to him, “I think they worry I will run away with you.”

“How could they be so concerned? You are to be my wife soon enough. Are they so concerned that I would mean to take your hand before such a time that they would allow? Perhaps they should be so worried. Seeing you again has forced a harder regret that I will not see you again for some months,” he agreed, keeping her hand in his, his thumb moving gently over her knuckle.

She gave a disinterested look about before saying, “I do not think I can risk sneaking out of my rooms either. Aunt Ivriniel has the room next to mine, and I am almost certain she asked for it, only to be sure I stay in my bed.”

“I am certain you are correct in your assessment,” he allowed, “Who knew that your lady aunt would be such a merciless spy master?”

“Every soul but I, it would seem,” she demurred, “Though it would seem that Heohild has taken a great deal of care to ensure that no one has been reading my letters.”

Eomer gave her a look, “I had meant to speak to you about your letters,” he said, teasingly, “How could a princess of such renowned virtue write such maddening things?”

“I am certain I have no idea of what you speak, my lord,” she smiled behind her goblet.

His hand traced over the small of her back for a moment, and she leaned a little into the touch, “I want to kiss you,” he whispered by her ear.

“Is that all you want to do, my lord?” she asked, as if disappointed.

His eyes darkened a moment on her, “Tell me about sailing,” he said suddenly.

“Why?”

“It might keep my mind otherwise occupied,” he admitted, teasing her.

“Then have I gone to all my planning for no purpose?” she asked.

“Whatever have you done now?” Eomer smiled, noting the approach of Gadrien, her hand on her small belly.

She curtsied, “Your Majesty, I had wondered if I might borrow my dear sister for five minutes. The air is a little close for me at present.”

“Of course, and congratulations, my lady,” Eomer smiled, casting a sidelong glance at Lothiriel.

“Five minutes,” Lothiriel whispered as she curtsied and walked with her sister-by-law out into the open air.

Eomer watched, trying not to smile after her, a feat that seemed somehow harder as Elphir slid into the open space that Lothiriel had just left, a placid smile on his face.

“My lady sister is so helpful. Perhaps I could keep you company while she is away,” Elphir smiled.

Damn this family, Eomer thought returning the smile, “You are a most kind friend, my lord.”

“My sister is clever, but I fear she would be trapped by her own cleverness,” Elphir said, “She might be irritated, but it would be better that she does not take such risks at present. There is enough gossip around her at present.”

“What gossip?” Eomer asked, concerned, though only a little. Any ill words slung around behind his princess’ back would lose any power soon enough.

Elphir paused a moment, hesitating, “One such is that we agreed to the marriage because she was a prisoner.”

“What?” Eomer stared at Elphir, waiting for him to laugh and say that it was a joke.

“It would seem some of your men spoke too freely, and in a way that I am certain they thought was to praise her, but such strange tales have come from their words. It is said that Lothiriel was imprisoned as a spy and that she bit one of her guards as if she were a mad dog, and that she ran about Edoras with blood dripping from her mouth.”

Eomer fought the urge to roll his eyes or to glower or laugh at the absurd image of Lothiriel running about as a monster from some child’s story, “That is hardly what happened.”

“So, you admit that some part of that is true?”

“My uncle was under an evil spell, and his advisor had her locked in a dungeon for a few days,” Eomer conceded that it did sound a little like a story, “Though I should ask that the record show that I was in exile at the time.”

“Whatever for?”

“Treason,” Eomer said, easily, “But Gandalf broke the spell and she was freed.”

“So, she did not bite anyone?”

“My sister claims that Lothiriel all but took a Dunlending’s ear off and gave another one a nasty blow to the head, but she had good cause to act so,” Eomer admitted after a moment.

“At least that is more fanciful than the others,” Elphir smirked, giving Eomer a pointed look.

Eomer’s brow furrowed as he considered the meaning behind that look, or how to even respond to it.

“Time has proven that rumor untrue, by grace,” Elphir's brow quirked a little at the implication.

“Does your father put any credit to these stories?”

“Not that he will admit, but he is irritated at the rumors,” Elphir said, not seeming at all surprised that his sister would react violently, “Though to my mind, there is little to be done, and it is all best ignored, especially since it bears no weight. If she were a prisoner, why would you marry her and make her queen?”

Eomer took another long drink of wine, his hand trembling a little with rage, “Does Lothiriel know?”

“No, and it might be best to keep it that way. She has a tendency to react poorly to ill words cast around about her. She tends to consider such things too seriously.”

Perhaps it was right to keep such things from her then. It might be the right action to keep such unpleasantness from her and let her live her life in blissful ignorance.

“You should go collect your sister,” Eomer said after a moment, “And let her know that it might be best that we keep to public.”

Elphir patted Eomer’s arm sympathetically, “I do hate to bear such news. I know it must be difficult not seeing each other for so long, but our father would give her such a terrible time about it were you caught.”

Eomer nodded, watching his future brother-in-law go after his own beloved, his plans vexed, and a mild irritation in his mind, that he did his best to ignore. He only wanted to hold her for a moment, and that would be enough. There were had been a week when they would be together in the same place until their own wedding, though things had changed.

It should not have been so hard as this, but it was. He finished off his wine and went to hug his little sister and speak with her new husband. He was so happy for her, and he tried not to think again on the fact that she was leaving him behind to have her own family, because he knew that that was an absurd notion.


	15. Chapter 15

Lothiriel could have walloped her brother, and she wanted to tell him to just distract everyone else. By grace, simply throw a lute at Erchirion and he would divert every eye for a few minutes. She had managed a few moments at a time with Eomer through his stay in Minas Tirith, how was this different? They were good as wed, so what did it matter to anyone else what she did? Did they think she would give herself over to him, and that he would break the engagement? Was her father under the impression that he could hold her maidenhead out as a carrot until she was wed? She felt so irritable that she was ready to flee from the society, but she found that desire fleeting, and she went through to see the bride for a few moments, not wanting to hog her attention.

Imrahil held a goblet of wine out to his daughter, “How are you?”

She smiled back, full of sunshine and merriment.

“I was harsh with you, and I am sorry for it,” he said, his face grim, “You know I love you.”

“Yes, father.”

“It is hard to see one’s children grown,” he admitted, looking into his own goblet, clearly feeling shamed by the slip of control.

“I can imagine,” Lothiriel smiled to ease his conscious, feeling ever more certain that he loved the idea of the princess daughter, more than the spirited daughter he had.

“You will do well in the north, I think,” Imrahil pressed a kiss to her brow, a strangely paternal gesture from him. He had always been a kind father, but publicly had ever fought to hold out his family as the picture of sophistication, elegance and nobility. This had left little time for such displays, simple though they were. Her father’s hand on her shoulder was soft and pressed only a little. She wondered if he was coming to miss the feeling of being needed, if he missed the sense of being the hero of his children’s worlds. Perhaps he had thought to hold Lothiriel in place not only out of duty to their rank and customs, but because she was the youngest. Once she left to start her own family, he might feel completely alone.

Lothiriel smiled at him, and without a word, promised to try to be good.

0x0x0

They were allowed a few private moments together the next day, she guessed in part because Gadrien had likely told her brother to be more sympathetic towards the betrothed couple, and bear in mind their own stolen moments during their own courtship. This was not confirmed by either her brother or his wife directly, but Elphir had recommended a walk in the glen, and then they had made themselves scarce.

Lothiriel for her part, had taken a longer moment to recognize their solitude than she ought to have, listening to Eomer speak in a low voice about the orcs what were still causing trouble around the borders, and that no one was certain where it was the creatures meant to go, or if they were fleeing for survival or for a further sense of anarchic evil.

“You should be wary,” Lothiriel said, nervously, wanting to be angry with him, “You are King, and should something happen to you…” she did not know how to phrase her point to him.

“I will not be a King that stays safely in his halls as he sends men to raid and fight,” Eomer replied, a mild hesitance in his words, as if he was carefully circling an argument, “you know the type of man that I am.”

“Yes,” she allowed, “Though do not expect me to put my concerns aside. If I am to be your wife, I do so because you are not going to try to change me, any more than I would think to change you.” She remembered that he was well aware that she could throw a fit far more easily than might be comfortable, “And if I think you are being foolish, I should hope that you would know better than to expect me to hold my tongue.”

“I suppose,” Eomer smiled, glancing at her sideways.

She did not want to have a row at present. There would be time to tell him off for taking too many risks with his life, when they had more time. She held her tongue, and her irritation in check. She had not noticed that they were alone at all until he had taken her hand carefully in his, slowing her steps, and holding her still a moment.

“Lothiriel,” he said in such a quiet voice, pulling her into his arms gently, and her eyes had quickly gone over her shoulder and his, looking for her brother, but not finding anyone else.

She eased into the embrace, pressing her cheek against his chest, feeling secure for the long moment. His lips found her brow, and she let her eyes close, and her own small arms wrapped around his waist, nuzzling close against the soft cloth of his tunic. His fingers were so gentle on the back of her neck, smoothing over the little curls that always escaped her hairstyle, as he gently pulled her to take a seat on a felled tree.

Her hand pressed to his heart for a moment as she settled, and when she went to withdraw that hand, his own clasped it in place. Glancing up, a little surprised, she took in the look he gave her. It was so full of need, and Lothiriel was not sure what that need was, for it was not that wolfish look that he gave her from time to time.

He had no right to look so fine, she thought for a moment, turning her face back, and offering her lips to him, her heart hammering as if they had never kissed before. He moved so slowly, a thumb tracing over a few of the freckles that had come on through the summer, to her aunt’s dismay, but he was smiling, stooping suddenly to kiss her. Her fingers grasped at his tunic a little, pressing against him, and his lips, and she felt happy, deep in her bones. She wanted more, and she knew what she wanted, but she was not sure how exactly to come to that point. She wasn’t sure of much but that she liked this, and that she was melting into his hand at the back of her head.

His nose rubbed so gently at hers when his lips left hers, nuzzling her gently, a small soft smile on his lips, his breath tickling her face, and pulling goosebumps up on her arms. She looked up at him under her lashes, the color coming up in her cheeks. She felt so warm, but she pressed closer to him again, burrowing close against his shoulder, wanting those arms back around her again.

“Two months more,” he said quietly against the top of her head, kissing her hair again for a moment, “and then we will not have to sneak around like thieves.”

“I have a suspicion that you will still want to sneak about,” Lothiriel teased him, looking up and taking stock of the glint in his eye, “I think you like the excitement of it.”

He smiled, looking a little embarrassed by her assessment, “Perhaps, but then it would not be such a necessity, my little love.”

Lothiriel’s smile widened up at him, a small giggle leaving him as she thought about why they would run around behind people’s backs if they did not need to, but she knew that she was right in her guess at him. She pressed another kiss to his lips, a little hungrier for his affections.

Eomer head stooped again, and he pressed his face into the crook of her neck, and she wondered absently for the moment that she could manage it, if he enjoyed kissing her there where she could not reach him. He pressed a few long gentle kisses to her neck, before stilling, and standing back up. Lothiriel knew what had drawn him back, she could hear the clumsy steps over branches and bramble, to alert the lovers of the approach of their chaperones. In a flash, Lothiriel thought of throwing a stone at her brother and telling him to come back later, or never at all.

“I will need to take my leave earlier than I had previously thought,” Eomer said after a silent moment.

She stared at him, confused, trying to hold back her disappointment, “When will you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he said, not meeting her gaze, “I thought perhaps I would be able to spare a few days, but I am needed.”

“Is everything…” she hesitated, “What has happened?”

Eomer did not answer for a long moment, as he seemed to think of how to put this concern to words without troubling her further. He held her hand a moment, guiding it to the crook of his arm, “The raids are more pressing than I would like. These orcs must be pushed back.”

She froze, staring up at him, “I did not realize that it was so pressing a concern as that. You did not tell me so.”

He looked a little embarrassed as if he knew that she was going to be irritated with him, as if he knew that he should have told her more clearly what was happening before he had taken advantage of the few moments of privacy between them.

“You will ride to meet them, then?” she asked, her voice a little harsher than was polite, she knew, but did not care in the least. Of course, he would, and had already said as much, but he had made it sound more as something that would happen in time, not something that would come to pass so soon.

“Yes,” he said, “If we do not, there will be little enough reason to put the work into the Westfold at all.”

She did not want to argue with him, especially not if her brother and his wife would hear, but at the same time, she was hurt and irritated that he had stopped a conversation to hold her and kiss her. Her temper was coming, and she tried to keep it in check, “I would have you be more forthcoming on such manners as this.”

He gave her a strained look, “There is little enough that you can do about it, and I have not seen a reason to tell you anything that might worry you.”

Her eyes flashed a moment, a question coming to her mind, “How many raids have you fought off since being crowned?”

Eomer turned his face from her, grimacing at the inquiry, and she snatched his arm, pulling him back, “Some.”

“Is that why you did not write me?” she asked, imagining him riding out to defend the borders without a thought for what would happen if he were injured.

“There has been trouble with the border with the Dunlendings as well,” he admitted, sounding irritated by her, “The Dunlendings have been coming out of the hills, and while the two groups are not allied to each other, they seem to strike in an unending string of attacks.”

“Why did you not tell me so?” she asked.

“Lothiriel,” he said in a voice that he must have thought was comforting, but it only angered her more, “What purpose is there is troubling you?”

Her hand dropped from his arm, and she wrung her hands, trying to find the right words to explain what she felt without being a nuisance, or sounding unnecessarily harsh, “You should know by now that I would rather know what is happening than to be kept unaware. Why…” she took a deep breath, “Is there anything else I should know?”

“No,” he said, reaching out to take her hand.

“There are no other secrets you wish to keep from me?” she crossed her arms over her chest, her brow raised.

“I am not keeping secrets,” Eomer snapped, rubbing his forehead, the irritation coming more clearly on his features, as he seemed to hold his own temper in check, “But I find little enough reason to tell you about things to which you cannot possibly help.”

“Do you find me so useless as that then?”

“That is not what I said.”

“In a way it is,” she snapped back, “Do you intend to keep my unknowing through our marriage as well?”

“You have a great many skills, but you are not a warrior, my lady. You may be able to offer me help when it comes to policy, and helping our people, but what do you intend to tell me on this matter? Nothing, I would guess,” he said, irritated by the tone she was taking with him.

“Then you mean only to keep me informed if I would be useful?” she asked, “What dull conversations we will have.”

“You seem eager to prove my point,” he snapped back at her.

“How have I done so? If you would tell me what was happening, we would not be fighting at all!”

Eomer paused a moment, trying to collect himself, and failing, his anger biting back, “I am not sure why we are.”

“Eomer,” she touched his arm, “I would have you tell me everything, even if the news might not be pleasant. I did not know I should even need to tell you this.”

“And I should think you should know-” he took a deep breath holding back a comment that would only make things worse and found himself more irritated that he had to hold his tongue, “My duties are different from your own. I should not think that I would have to explain that to you.”

“I understand that, but do you not think I should know that you are putting yourself in so direct a danger? What if you were hurt in some way and I have not even known!” she was searching his face, a new realization dawning, “Oh, Eomer…”

He scoffed, “They are only flesh wounds. There is no cause for alarm.”

She stared at him, her jaw going slack, “You kept no secrets, you said.”

“That is hardly-”

“I will not hear it,” she shouted at him, her anger breaking through, her composure, “and I will not stand here and be insulted. Do you think your life has no value at all?!”

“You are acting like a child,” he stormed.

Lothiriel balled her fists by her sides, her hands shaking, “I am sorry then, that I am so concerned for my husband-to-be. Perhaps I should stop it, if I can manage to do so. It shall be so wonderful to sit in my rooms, hoping that you are still alive, and holding my tongue.”

He glowered at her, “I will not further discuss this at present,” he turned his back, “I will escort you back to your rooms, and speak with you later.” He hoped that once her temper cooled, he would be able to offer her his apology without have his own temper kindled by hers. He took a few calming breaths and began to turn back to her. He did not want to leave her irritated with him.

Something struck the side of his face as he turned back. It hadn’t hurt terribly much, and he looked down, confused, seeing one of her shoes sitting on the ground at his feet, so out of place in its fineness in the dirt and undergrowth. He looked back up her, “Did you just throw your shoe at my head?” he asked, watching her take her other shoe off, her skirts picked up in her fist.

“No,” she said, her voice far too calm, poising her arm to throw the other one, before letting it free.

Eomer barely dodged the projectile, his hand swatting the shoe aside.

“Now bring them back,” she said, her eyes narrowed at him.

He looked at her shoes, somewhat at a loss as to what to do in this specific situation, then back at her, smiling a little, struggling to recognize the danger that he was in, “Are you going to throw them at me again?”

“No, of course not,” she said, her face still composed of a deadly rage, but there was a small tremor at the corners of her mouth, “I am a princess and that sort of behavior is of course too vulgar and coarse for a lady of my status.”

If this had not been so amusing, Eomer would have been concerned that the princess would murder him and hide his body in the woods. He picked up her shoes carefully, dusting them off for her, and crossed to hand them to her, pausing short and tossing them gently to her and running away, shouting, “You have my apologies!” He felt another toss land between his shoulder blades and could hear her tearing after him, and he laughed, though well aware that that might only anger her further. His foot caught something on the forest floor, and he stumbled, laughing over his shoulder, “I yield! I yield, my lady!”

Lothiriel snatched him by the arm and swatted his backside with her shoe, “Do not think to keep secrets from me! You tell me what is happening!” she yelled at him before stilling.

By all rights he should have been furious with her, but he found that he could not manage it, finding her rage fearsome, but precious, and a little absurd. He laughed, resting his hands on his knees, turning to look at her, and hearing a small sniffle. He tilted her face up, “I promise to keep you better informed,” he said, looking at her, concerned that he had done more damage than he ought to have.

“Do you still want to marry me?” she asked, her eyes shining a little.

“What manner of question is that?” Eomer asked, confused, “Why would you think I would not? Because we have quarreled?”

“And I hit you,” she said, her chin quivering a little.

“Oh, not very hard,” he smiled down at her, wrapping her in his arms to comfort her, “though your arm is good, and your aim true.” He kissed her brow.

“No, I hit you very hard,” she insisted.

“Of course,” he smiled against the top of her head, “You are a terror. My hands shake from fear at the idea of your wrath.”

Her hands swatted at him as she tried not to laugh at his fraudulent fear.

“Are you two done yet?” Elphir called from somewhere nearby, though neither could see him, they could hear the amusement in his voice, and they both wondered how much he had stood by to hear.

Elphir and Gadrien would never confirm how much of the argument they had witnessed from their hiding place in the trees, but a glance had passed between them as they both silently wondered if they should intervene, but also knowing that it would serve better to let the couple sort their disagreement, however long that took.

“She will let loose some blow on him soon if he does not shut his mouth,” Elphir whispered quietly to his wife, enjoying this spectacle more than he should have.

“I wonder if he will bear that well…” Gadrien replied.

They watched until Elphir called their attentions from their forgiving embrace, his wife clasping a hand over her mouth to quiet her laughter.

“They are both of them fools,” she whispered.

Elphir shot her a look, “At least they are alike for their part.”

0x0x0

Queen Arwen had honored them when she took tea with Eowyn, Lothiriel and Gadrien, smiling silently. They both sat quietly, knowing full well that the conversation full of giggles that would normally come between dear friends after a wedding night, was unlikely to happen. There were few topics that had thus far been out of bounds between them, but the fact that Eowyn and Lothiriel were each marrying into each other’s families put a rather firm foot down on that. The closest Lothiriel wanted her toe to the line would be to ask if it hurt, but even that seemed absurd in some way. Lothiriel realized that she did not even know if Eowyn had waited until her marriage to… no, her mind did not even want to broach that.

Gadrien sat by, with a knowing smile on her face, and said nothing, and Lothiriel wanted to smack that smile off of her face, and Queen Arwen for her part seemed simply pleased at the idea of all of these weddings, and new starts, but she looked as well as if she was keenly aware of everything that went unsaid. It was strange to be so clearly on the outside of some natural truth.

“Well, fine then,” Lothiriel snapped, smiling so neither lady would take offense, “You married women may keep your secrets, since it seems I am the odd one out.” It was only a joke that she could make because of the absence of her aunt, or any of her other kin. Almost reflexively, she seemed to expect to feel a rap on her knuckles, but there were only the giggles from her associates, and the assurances that she would not be ‘the odd one out’ for long.


	16. Chapter 16

Eomer had made it clear that everyone was to behave themselves, and he would broker no insurrection, no matter how drunk anyone found themselves through the evenings. Any brawls were to be handled after the Prince’s family left, and any coupling was to be done where no one would stumble on them and not under his roof to assure the illusion that such things were not done, Eomer’s gaze landed levelly on the assembly, taking a moment to put the fear of his wrath in those he felt might have the most trouble with his orders. If there was any grumbling, it was silently done.

They would give no reason for his future family-by-law to snatch Lothiriel back up and take her home. Lady Baldgwyn had offered her house for the Prince’s family to use during their stay in Edoras and had thrown herself into organizing the lodging for the week long royal visit, and making the houses ready for the visitors. The trip from the south would take longer than the stay of only seven days or so, and Eomer felt almost guilty that they were dragging the entire family north for something that could have been done quietly, and privately, but it was a royal wedding, her reminded himself for not the first time.

This whole event lingered in front of him, a doubled edged gift. To marry his beloved would be a peerless joy, but he knew there would be disdain behind her family’s smiles. He loved his home, and his land, but it was not like the palaces of gleaming stone to which they were so used, even if Imrahil had been to Edoras before, it had not been with an eye to see where his daughter would live. The nervousness seemed to spread to every soul in the court, even if they knew full well that it would be a short enough affair, and well worth the discomfort, and even if they did not know why they were nervous to the point that their King was.

Lothiriel for her part prepared her brothers by telling them that if they were rude or embarrassed her or acted smug in anyway at all, she would use the power that was soon hers as Queen of Rohan to have them killed and their heads displayed on the gates of Edoras as a warning to all pompous visitors. They knew she was only making fun of them, but the image stayed in their minds regardless, even if it did make Amrothos want to embarrass her all the more.

The ride through the countryside was a little hard in the late summer heat, but Lothiriel paid it no mind, and was frustrated that such a long distance lay between her and her new home. Through the journey, she fidgeted, and found that sitting still was near impossible, perish the thought of sleep almost all together, much to Gadrien’s silent amusement, she knew.

It had been suggested the Elphir’s wife might stay behind with the children, her pregnancy being offered as the reason, no one wanting to risk her health for a long journey with a short stay of movement at the middle. She had convinced the family that she should come, if only to show that the family was fertile, leaving Aunt Ivriniel behind to manage the principailty, and had decided that she and the children would ride in a cart with the last of Lothiriel’s things, and Elphir had done his best to make the corner of the cart comfortable for his wife and children, but did not envy her the long ride with the small excitable children. Lothiriel wondered what dark magic Gadrien had used to convince him to let her take this journey.

She hoped absently that nothing went awry in Gondor while they made the pilgrimage to Edoras, as King Elessar and his wife rode with them, and Faramir had come with Eowyn as well, even as she was not sure that such a thing still seemed to her so natural that it slipped her mind that her marriage was a matter of the state. To her mind, it could have been easily done months ago, but a Princess’s marriage was not done in a notary’s office, rather such a wedding seemed to need the witness of so many princes that it seemed to ward off any possible contingency. She tried to content herself that this was done more out of her friends and family being happy for her, and wanting to see her well married, but the nagging sense that she was dragging the nobility north for the sense that she was here only for the sake of a treaty.

When they drew near enough to see the roof of Meduseld shining in the distance, she threw her leg over the saddle without thought and urged Leofric on, speeding ahead of the other riders, passing King Elessar without a backwards glance. Part of her knew she would be in trouble with her father for it, but she found herself unable to care. She could not be in trouble with him for long anyhow as she would not be his problem, or his embarrassment the next day, she reasoned through the whirl of her excitement, as she adjusted her seat to canter as she rode across the grasses. She was giving up her homelands and gaining a new one, and to her mind, there was no time like the present to start taking up the practices of Rohan.

She hoped the people would like her, that she would be a good queen, and that she was the right woman for the job. As much as she would marry for love, she had long ago reconciled the want for love with the weight of duty. At least she would be able to share that weight with her husband, and he could help her be who she needed to for her role here. They trusted each other and that would be enough to put aside the nerves that had been growing in her these last weeks, but she felt it coming back on, wearing at the edges of her confidence.

Slowing Leofric, she passed through the gates, though the wardens had called out that the approach, through the city to the foot of the stairs to the hall, her eyes finding Eomer as he stared down the stairs. Lothiriel dismounted as gracefully as she could, and started to him, her path stopped by Caelon breaking free of his handler and running to her. He sat at her feet panting, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Lothiriel smiled at him, “Hello, dear boy,” she stooped to ruffle his fur, “Did you miss me?”

Caelon leapt, his paws on her shoulders and he licked her face.

“Down,” she called, laughing, “Sit, I have something for you!”

He sat, his wide eyes staring up at her as she pulled a piece of dry salted meat from her saddle bag and fed it to him. He licked at her hand after he’d gobbled it down and leaned against her leg again. She wondered why he did that, but she smiled and patted his head.

“Please swear to me that you are not marrying me for my dog,” Eomer beamed down at her.

“I will do no such thing, for he is such a very handsome and the very best boy,” Lothiriel replied, grinning up at him from where she stooped.

“You hold your tongue. He is vain enough as is,” Eomer stooped, and pressed a kiss to her cheek quickly before looking to see the rest of the horses coming though the city, the rest of Eomer’s court coming down the steps at their own pace, “Your father looks quite annoyed.”

“I broke formation and rode ahead of King Elessar,” she admitted, embarrassed.

Eomer looked proud of her for a moment, pressing her hand, “Your things came two days ago. Though I admit I was not sure where we ought to put them.”

Lothiriel smiled at him, shaking her head a little at him, trying not to laugh.

“Your Highness,” Lady Baldgwyn curtsied, smiling at her, “Your family will be staying in my house. I hope it will be acceptable.”

“I am sure it will be more than acceptable,” Lothiriel reached out, and took her hand, “Thank you.”

“We have prepared houses for all of our guests,” the older lady smiled, clearly pleased with her ability to properly prepare for such a visit as this. Lothiriel wondered if she had taken on the running of the household, as she could not imagine Eomer having the faintest idea of how to do so.

“Your daughter is such a skilled rider, Lord Imrahil,” Queen Arwen called as they approached, “She does you credit!”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Imrahil smiled, cutting a look at his daughter, his eyes cold.

Queen Arwen dismounted without help, and clasped Lothiriel’s hand, “You seem ready to become a Queen of Rohan, dear princess.”

Lothiriel blushed, curtsying, and avoiding her father’s gaze, and his ire.

“We have had houses made ready for your use,” Eomer smiled, after greetings and embraces had been done, “We will have luncheon brought while you are settling yourselves.”

0x0x0

Lothiriel went to the small room in Lady Baldgwyn’s house that she was to stay in for the night. Caelon had followed her in, and leapt up on the bed, much to her father’s irritation. She scratched his head, “Oh, do you think you rule here? Do you, my sweet boy?”

“At least Lothiriel has made friends,” Amrothos jested, pulling a face at her over Imrahil’s shoulder.

“He’s a better sort than the friends you carouse with,” she retorted, grinning back at him

“Well, put him outside, if you would,” Imrahil said, looking disquieted by having an animal on the furniture with his dirty paws, and complete disregard for the schedules of the day as Caelon lay out on the bed, resting his head on the coverlet, waiting for further praises to his better qualities, knowing that they were many.

Lothiriel patted her thigh, “Come out, back home with you,” she tugged Caelon’s collar leading him towards the door where he sat, staring up at her, “Oh, worry not, sir. I will see you later.”

“He only thinks you will feed him,” Imrahil said, dismissively.

“Perhaps,” she said, admitting silently to herself that she had never really thought that was the reason. She had heard that animals were like people in their ability to like people, and to favor some over others, and she knew that they were in possession of better senses than humans.

0x0x0

Heohild seemed happy to be home, and Lothiriel couldn’t blame her for it. The handmaid had never seemed fully comfortably in the stone cities of the south, and Lothiriel had asked after her sense of wellbeing hoping that the other servants were nice to her. She should have done more, she realized even if there had been no true sense of ill will for her handmaid, but perhaps living in the palaces to which she had been born had made Lothiriel a little snobbish.

The tangles in her hair were slow work, but Heohild seemed to enjoy pulling the comb through the tresses, “My lady, the wind here will make a fright of your hair.”

“Don’t I know it,” Lothiriel smiled, “When I was last here, I kept it braided to keep it almost tidy.”

Heohild smiled back at her, “Well, as a married woman, you could start wearing a veil if you wanted, after the wedding I mean.”

“Should I? Do you think it would be appropriate?”

The maid hesitated, thinking, “Perhaps not yet, my lady. You are still young, and it might look too matronly,” she allowed.

“Then no, I think His Majesty likes my hair.”

“I do not doubt it,” Heohild twisted a few locks together, starting to style her hair up but a low, simple coif made of twists and pinned curls.

Lothiriel closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of having her hair done. It was somewhat mundane, and as a lady of her station it was an everyday event, but she still enjoyed the luxury of it.

0x0x0

“Perhaps we might do to convince the people that Rohan has kept their Kingdom by this marriage,” Imrahil said, thoughtfully, not taking note of the look of irritation on Elessar’s face at the idea, “Your Majesty’s aim to reunify your own kingdom could by your will extend to these lands.”

“I have never had any intention of claiming Rohan,” Elessar said as carefully as he could manage, “We might move to reclaim our lands to the south and along the western shore, but I would leave Rohan to their own keep. Eomer has retaken the Oath of our forefathers, even had he not I would not think to go to war for the land.” He did not go on to explain the betrayal that this would be would prove fatal, even in the weakened state of the Eorlingas’ Army.

Imrahil looked carefully around the room, “Of course, Your Majesty, but I do think there are people in these lands that may oppose this union. Some think that having a Gondorian Queen did not serve the country before and might wonder how well it would serve them now.”

“I would not think to interfere with Eomer’s people by deception,” Elessar said, looking over the assembly, and finding Legolas and Gimli speaking with Lothiriel's brothers, having arrived just after the rest of the caravan, “If any of his people take exception with his choice of queen, he will undoubtedly handle it with impunity.”

“Were his choice not my daughter, I would agree,” Imrahil watched his daughter, his only girl looking up at her lover, her face lighting in such a beautiful way, and Eomer, the stern and grim king was returning that affection. He knew that this man would make a good husband to his daughter, but it still felt bittersweet.

Elessar had no mind for political machinations, and the need to learn to work through disagreements in such soft manners. He had been a man of action his entire life, and now to have to strategize the movements of men by his words was enough to give him a headache, “Were the situation the same, and the concerns still held, and the lady was any other than your daughter, I would call the concern true. But Princess Lothiriel is more than capable of dispatching any opposition.” Elessar looked around. Where was his wife? She was better at this than he. One oath he had taken from her, in private after they had been wed was that she would stand by to rescue him from such perils as this.

0x0x0

“I only ask that you do not drink too much tomorrow night,” Eomer said, embarrassment tinging his voice.

“Are you afraid I will fall asleep?” Lothiriel asked, “You have always told me to get myself to sleep, my lord.” She could see him weighing a number of replied in their turn and wondered if she would hear something scandalous. She raised a brow, “I think my lord blushes.”

“I do not. That is a slander, and it is against the law to pour out slanders on a king.”

She grinned, “And what is the penalty for such an infraction?”

Eomer gave her a slow look, and she could see him biting back a deluge of replies, “You will be forced to manage the account ledgers.”

“Is that not a Queen’s duty?”

“And it is a sentence I would not lay on my worst enemy.”


	17. Chapter 17

The women had scrubbed her skin almost raw to make sure she was clean, and Lothiriel absently wondered if she had been washing wrong her whole life, or perhaps Eowyn and Heohild were just overly attentive. Baldgwyn pulled a wooden comb through Lothiriel’s wet hair with gentle care, rubbing the lilac oil Lothiriel had brought into the dark waves.

And Lothiriel sat in a tub, overwhelmed and feeling like a doll as women fussed over her. She wished Gadrien could be a help to her, rather than sitting by and laughing. It was a strange feeling to know that she would be leaving her own family behind, but it was something that she had known for weeks, and should have thought to be comfortable by now.

“I am sure you have gotten any dirt off of my skin that might have ever been there,” Lothiriel said, mostly teasingly, but also feeling certain that they might take her words at their meaning and lay their bristled weapons aside.

“We must be sure,” Eowyn replied, splashing some sudsy water at Lothiriel.

“I would like to think I was far gentler when I helped with your washing.”

Eowyn smirked, “Welcome to the family, little sister.”

Lothiriel shook her hair at Eowyn, sprinkling water at her, and the other women.

“Stop that,” Baldgwyn chiding, grasping Lothiriel’s hair in her fist, giving it a gentle tug. 

Until she had met Lady Baldgwyn, the closest thing to a mother Lothiriel had ever known was her aunt Ivriniel, and her aunt had in a way been a mother to her, kind but firm, a strict matron. It felt as if Lothiriel was gaining another maternal figure in this lady that had taken such care with her without knowing who she was.

“Gadrien, help I am being stripped of my flesh layer by layer,” Lothiriel called, “Avenge me!”

“Has she ever been so whiney?” Eowyn asked Heohild, “Perhaps you should have drowned her.”

Lothiriel pulled a face at them but was relieved to see Gadrien with the towel for her.

“You’ll prune soon,” Gadrien smiled, jerking her head for her sister to come out of the water. She wrapped Lothiriel in the towel, “You are such a baby.”

“Pardon me, my lady?” Lothiriel asked, her face fallen a little.

“You always act like this when you cannot get past your nerves,” Gadrien took a towel to the wet hair to stop it from dipping on the floor, “though I could not imagine why you might be nervous on your wedding day.”

Lothiriel dabbed the towel over her bare skin, still nervous at being naked in front of so many people, even if they were all women, and even if she did know them well. She had for most of her life since adolescence found her body a source of anxiety and had ever felt that it had been proportioned wrong. Her hips were a bit too wide, her breasts too small, and her belly too soft. She wasn’t fat, she knew that, but her softness made her anxious. She looked at her reflection in the polished metal mirror, trying to focus as ever on her better features.

Her attention was drawn by the laughter of children outside where Alphros and Mithriel were playing with the other children under the afternoon sun, with the free carelessness of unattended children. She peered through the shutters at the tiny rabble running in circles and screaming with abandon. The little princess was running after the boys, her dress balled in her fists as she ran around after the children, kicking a ball. Lothiriel found her heart breaking just a little at the thought of Mithriel’s soul being broken as she grew into a lady. Perhaps she would find a way to have her niece come to visit her, and she might try to keep the fire going in her.

“I hope they have not been too wild. Alphros got himself up near the rafters of the hall last night, though I can no say how he could have managed it,” Gadrien smiled before she asked in a low voice, “Did you speak to the woman I suggested?”

“Yes, though she gave me little enough information. Much more advice as to maintaining my own health, in that regard,” Lothiriel replied, pulled from her thoughts.

Gadrien looked surprised, but she stopped her tongue from whatever reply had been her natural response, “But what did she say?”

“Only that she knew who I was and who I was to wed, and that I would do better to learn by my own experience.”

“Truly?” Gadrien’s face fell a little as she tried to make sense of what she was being told, “How strange. I wonder what she meant by that,” Gadrien had rather hoped that Saroneth might have set aside any of her husband’s sister’s anxiety of the marital bed and did not think that it would be right to push Lothiriel to tell her more of what had passed, but she hoped that the young lady would be happy. She had not been close with her sister-in-law before her ride north, but in the months that had followed her return she had felt the fondness for the girl that she had always wished would form between them. She looked into the rounded face, and Gadrien smoothed her hand over the black hair, still damp and not quite given to its natural state of contempt for order.

“I still paid her for the time she spent. In truth we did have a rather nice chat,” Lothiriel smirked, “And you know the strangest thing about going to a brothel and endeavoring in that discussion was that the wine was really rather good, I think.” She glanced over her shoulder as Heohild brought the gown out to check it for tears, or any fault.

“Well, if you do not take to marriage, you are more than within your rights to call your brothers down on your king’s head.”

Lothiriel rolled her eyes and went to the look at her dress with the other ladies. Her dress was cream white and gold, the vine and floral embroidery and beading in its details far finer than anything Lothiriel would have been able to manage by her own hand. It might have been a little ornate, but she loved this dress and had rarely found occasion to wear it, and a royal wedding seemed as good a time as any.

There were a few coos and deep breaths and reaching hands to touch the fine material, and Lothiriel smiled, remembering that she had done the same thing to every wedding dress she had ever seen lain out before a wedding. She settled in front of the mirror, trying to dry her hair as much as she could manage, smiling at Heohild as she came to comb the damp hair before it dried. If Heohild ever thought to leave her service, Lothiriel would write her a superb recommendation full of notations to her attentiveness, but she hoped she would keep her maid.

“Thank you,” Lothiriel smiled, glancing up over her shoulder.

“Of course, my lady,” Heohild gave a quick glance, before asking in a low voice, “A certain amount of nervousness might be expected. But if I may, I think there should be no reason for it.”

“I am sure you speak rightly,” Lothiriel rubbed a balm of shea nut into her hands, even as they struggled not to fidget. Why should she even be nervous? It was not as if she had to fear that she would be left before the vows were taken, or that she was wedding herself to a stranger. It was such a simple matter, and to her mind she was already wedded to Eomer. Why should anxiety plague her at all? Those logical thoughts battled with the feeling that she was not worthy of this honor. To be a princess and to marry for love was something far too good to be true.

And yet she was going to do just that.

What fortune had rested its hand on her head? What good turn had she done in life to be rewarded thus? There was little enough good in her, she knew. Before that blow to her head, she had been as proud and as imperious as her father, if only by the force of expectation and many reed canes lain on her back. She had been put in the place her kin deemed appropriate by her own loss of will as much as anything else. What if she did not possess the strength needed for the life ahead of her?

The hand on her shoulder was gentle, even if it was a little restrained, as if Heohild was fully aware that such a gesture was a breach of protocol in Gondor. Lothiriel’s hand covered hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Will you want your stays, my lady?” Heohild asked.

“No. I doubt I will again.”

Heohild gave another quick look at the other ladies before winking and leaning down by Lothiriel’s ear, “When your family is gone, we can burn the lot of those bindings, if you wish.”

The women smiled between each other at the small secret plan, that would not harm or offend a soul, but it was nice to have even so simple a pact between them. She knew that her maid was doing her best to calm her mind and her nerves, and it was in fact working. Heohild reclaimed her hand and began parting out Lothiriel’s hair, to help it dry and to start on her work.

A goblet of wine was set in front of her, and Eowyn gave her cheek a quick pat and a smile as she mirrored the parts done by Heohild.

“I know there is importance to the way the ladies of this land tend to their hair styling,” Lothiriel said, taking a breath, “But please do not overdo it.”

“That is not how it is done for weddings,” Eowyn’s voice was gentle and light, “Only for high feasts. You will have braids, but the overall device is that it may be easily undone, and by hands that have no knowledge of the mysteries of the care that women take to present such loveliness.” She quirked a brow.

“And I recall your hair had quite a few pins when you wed,” Lothiriel smiled, feeling a little awkward even as Heohild had paused in her work to massage the base of her head.

“Your people are quite content to be contrary to all sense,” Eowyn gave the braid she had been carefully weaving a gentle tug, “I married in the way of your lands, and now you will marry in the way of ours.” She gave her a look as if to imply a great horror before her face broke back into a smile so pure and full of joy.

0x0x0

The hardest part of the ceremony was not what Lothiriel had expected it to be. The vows, exchanging rings and contract signing were easy enough for she could see Eomer and she could see that he had not wavered in his intentions, but to kneel on a cushion and have her title taken away was harder than she expected. Even knowing that it would be over in a moment, facing away from the players in this tableau was a struggle.

Prince Imrahil took the diadem from her brow with gentle hands, “Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, do you consent to so forsake your claim to our lands, for yourself and on behalf of any offspring bourn forth by you in perpetuity?”

She took a breath, keeping her gaze level and then gave her assent in Rohirric, Heohild having helped her learn the words, though she was certain her accent still wasn’t quite right.

A stillness fell over the hall that had been already quiet, and she could feel every eye on her in the hall, and she could almost feel them widen in pleasant surprise. Well, at least she seemed to be starting on the right foot.

It was a sort of torment as she knelt there, for what felt like the longest moment in her life, without a country. She was a married woman, but this seemed a torturous form of purgatory to her, to not possibly have a place. It was like the weeks without memory, but worse for she knew who she was now. She took a steadying breath. No. She had a place. She knew where she was and what she was. She clasped her hands a little firmer in her lap. There was a single point on the doors far past anyone’s head and she kept her gaze fixed on that point, should she waver.

She listened to the long flow of Rohirric leaving her new husband’s lips, and though she did not know the words themselves, she knew their overall meaning. Eomer, as king, was giving her, by his hand and his power the crown of queenship over these lands and was making clear that he named her his helpmate, and vowing her right to every privilege of the station and settled the circlet over her brow, and she was surprised at how well it fit her.

The hand offered her drew her back into herself, and she looked up, a small smile on her face as she accepted it and rose to her feet as a queen. The applause that sounded was not the polite cheers of her motherland, but a loud and almost raucous round of cheers. She tilted her chin up just a little, deciding that she could find herself quite used to this.

Eomer’s hand squeezed hers just a little before pulling her hand to his lips, his eyes looking at her with the same countenance that others thought grim and ornery, but she could see through that façade. His eyes glinted at her under his stern brow. Her heart beat aggressively in her chest as she looked over the hall, not quite adapted to her new station. Perhaps there was a good reason for her to have been so nervous, but she found that she liked this unfamiliar feeling.

0x0x0

“I thought for a moment that you might flee,” Eomer admitted in a whispered tone close to her ear, “Or else faint.”

Lothiriel was stuffing her face as delicately as a person could possibly do, most of her nerves abated and her stomach all but empty. She held her fingers in front of her lips as she finished the mouthful she had, “Why would you think that?” She asked when her mouth was empty.

“You went pale as a sheet, and you seemed to lock up.”

“Were you terribly concerned?”

“A little. You have already had a knock to your head hard enough that you forgot your entire life. Your wedding might not be the best time for another such incident.”

“No, but just think, you would be able to tell me all the same jokes over, and I would be none the wiser,” she nudged his knee with her own, before falling serious, “I think I worked myself into a fit.”

Eomer looked at her fully, clearly confused, “Why would you do that?”

“Because I am a mad woman, I suppose.”

His hand took hers gently, the band on his finger glinting a little in the torchlight, “You are not mad, and the worst of it is over, I pray.”

She shot him a look, but softened it, and leaned closer to him, her arm pressing on his. She held their hands next to each other, looking at their wedding bands, “Why is your ring bigger than mine?”

He laughed and leaned the short distance to kiss her cheek before whispering, “I would have caught you if you had fainted.”

A teasing reply was almost formed as she looked at him, but it died on her tongue as she saw the earnestness there in his gaze. He had been worried for her, then. He had wanted to protect her almost from their first meeting, even if she had not always seen it, and that want had solidified in his breast. “I know,” she said, squeezing his hand in hers. Nothing would separate them now, or break the bond they had sworn. They belonged to each other, and to no one else.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, this chapter is shorter, and a little sillier.  
> I have probably just a couple more chapters after this in this fic, mostly some fluff and maybe a honeymoon chapter.  
> Thanks for all the comments I've gotten on the last chapter. Comments and kudos really keep me going, and keep me writing. xoxo

Mithriel liked the wedding banquet and had decided that she liked this place better than home, because there were plenty more people to play with, and they seemed to understand the benefits that she would bring to any gathering. She would have to speak with her parents about extending her rights to other formal events in future, as she had clearly been a success. She scanned the room for her parents, and noted that her father and grandfather were speaking, and her mother was resting with her new uncle’s sister, her hand smoothing over her tummy.

Her aunt Lothiriel was standing with Uncle Eomer, speaking with some men from this country. Her moment had come for her attack. Mithriel crept with all the stealth that she had gained in her almost six years and posted herself between her aunt and uncle and reached her hand up to tug on Eomer’s tunic. His lords looked down, with patient smiles, and bowed their heads to her. Lothiriel patted a hand over Mithriel’s curls, smoothing her fingers over her forehead. Mithriel tugged on Eomer’s tunic again. Eomer dropped quickly, growling at her, and sending her into a giggling fit as he scooped her up onto his hip, and bouncing her as the adults resumed talking, about something boring. She prodded his shoulder to get his attention, “Uncle…”

“Yes?” he asked, smiling.

The tiny princess leaned in and whispered, her hands cupping her mouth.

Eomer raised a brow at her, “Your niece is of the opinion that there should be no more politics at this wedding.”

“Is she truly?” Lothiriel asked, smiling, and fully aware that Eomer would take any excuse given to not give his mind to working.

Mithriel made a face at the men, hiding her mouth behind her hand, shyly.

“She is your niece,” Eomer replied, and kissed Lothiriel’s cheek, as Mithriel squirmed in his arms to be let down, “will every member of your family ask me to dance?”

“If you break your oath of being stalwartly stationary for a toddler, your wife will expect the same courtesy,” Lothiriel smiled up at him.

“Fine, but if Erchirion asks, I will lock him in a pantry,” he smiled down at Mithriel as she dragged on his hand, her tiny body leaning forward, and straining to make him move. Eomer laughed, “Oh, you are very strong, princess Mithriel.”

Lothiriel shook her head and walked the edge of the room to her father, who for his part actually looked happy. “Ada?”

Imrahil’s eyes were misty as he turned them to her, “Lothiriel Queen,” how bowed his head, looking at his daughter lovingly.

She did not know what to say to her father, and looked over the assembly, trying to appear comfortable. Her father took her hand and gave it a little squeeze.

“You will be happy here, sweet child,” Imrahil said finally, “and he will be the husband you need. He loves you and will cherish you.”

Lothiriel looked at her father, a little startled by his words. Every position he had taken on this marriage had been with a mind toward duty, not speaking of the affections between people. It was how he had always been, and to have him acknowledge that from him was sweet even if it seemed out of character for him.

Her father leaned forward and kissed her cheeks, “And if he does not,” Imrahil narrowed his eyes teasingly, “you have but to write to us.”

Lothiriel rolled her eyes, “Thank you, Ada,” she looked away, smiling at Eomer trying to follow the steps set out by Mithriel to a dance than no one knew except for her. At least he did not seem embarrassed, though perhaps that was simply due to the fact that children seemed to be considered members of this court with as much right as their adult counterparts. Alphros was running around the hall with a few other boys, alike in age to him, Caelon at their heels.

“When do they put their children to bed?” Imrahil asked, and Lothiriel could sense him trying not to be rude by his question.

“Ada,” she smirked, and she thought that he had made such progress.

“I know,” he sighed, falling silent for a long moment before speaking again, “I like your husband, and hope that he knows that he is now a part of our family, and as such may call upon us for anything.”

“He is far too proud for that,” she said, grumbling a little that her father’s mind still turned toward public and state matters, and she of course could recognize that this union would be influenced by such matters, but she wondered if her father could even remember his own love for her mother. Their marriage as she had been told her entire life was a love match, even as it was not as political as hers had turned out to be. Had he needed to put such focus on policy out of grief and pain? “I love you, Ada.”

Her father’s face softened, “I love you, too.”

One of the Eorlingas shoved his companion, a tankard shattering on the floor in the middle of the shoving match, their voices in their language rising. Lothiriel smiled, and made her way over, noting the glare from Eomer at them, and their stance tense as if they were about to take a lashing for their indiscretion. She smiled, resting a hand on the older man’s shoulder. He was large, and realistically, she should have been frightened of him.

“Come, good sirs, let me get a couple plates made for you,” she smiled between them, "you must be hungry."

“Thank you, your majesty,” the younger said, his head hanging in shame.

The older rested a hand on the younger’s shoulder and nodded, some understanding, and making what sounded like an apology to his peer, them both being well into the mead. There was a pounding of a fist on a table a few benches away, in measured beats, other fists joining as the soldiers took their feet.

Lothiriel looked around the hall, a little startled and not showing it. The voices came in Rohirric, and she looked around the room, as her ears picked out parts of the singing chant.

“What are they saying?” Mithriel asked, looking up to her new uncle.

Eomer stooped, “They are telling her that they…” he paused trying to think of the right words to explain it to a child, “they will be her friends, and that they will help her if she needs it.”

“Because she’s Queen now?”

“In part, yes,” Eomer picked Mithriel up, and took her back to her mother, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Thank you, my lords and sirs, you honor me, and I pray that I will be worthy of the honor,” Lothiriel called, raising her chalice to them, “Westu hal!”

Imrahil looked over the men in the hall, calling praises on his daughter, their Queen, a sense of pride coming over him at the allegiances sworn to her, seemingly brought on by something so simple. “Well done, Your Majesty,” he smiled.

She curtsied, smiling over her people, and giving her father’s hand a squeeze before going to join her husband, and settling into the weight of his power, and trying to assure herself that she would not be a tyrant.

“Your niece wants my throne,” Eomer said.

“Well, she is certainly ambitious for one so young.”

“She asked if she could have my country when I died.”

“And you had to remind yourself that she is a small child and that she would wage war on naptime.”

Eomer’s face lit for a moment, “That would have been a better response. I told her rather that I would have to consult with my advisors on such an important matter.


	19. Chapter 19

Eomer smoothed the back of his fingers over her cheek, his smile warming her, his arm bent and his hand resting on his hand, not speaking, but watching her, a small contented smile on his lips. Lothiriel giggled, turning her head into the pillow, a little embarrassed, in the way that had been made normal through her life at just the idea of being in bed with a man. He studied her face, a little afraid of what she had felt, but she looked back up at him, grinning ear to ear.

“I think I like being married,” she giggled, pulling the covered over her chest, a little impulsively.

He chuckled, leaning his head on her chest, “I will endeavor to ensure that you do,” he murmured, closing his eyes as she ran her fingers through his hair.

She kissed the top of his head, before laying her head back on the pillows, her arms encircling his shoulders, she smirked a little, tracing a fingertip over a set of fresh scratches over his shoulder blade.

0x0x0

She woke in the same vague way that one would do if they intended to roll back over and go back to sleep but found herself mildly uncomfortable under the heat of Eomer’s body. Squirming to free herself from the confinement of his limbs, she watched him, hoping she would not wake him. Eomer murmured in his sleep, and rolled on to his back, and she was almost annoyed that she had so craftily extricated herself from a trap that was so easily escaped. Lothiriel put one of her legs out from under the covers into the cool morning to better regulate her body temperature as she looked at the morning light and turned to look at the large hill of a man next to her.

It was strange to see him so peacefully sleeping, his arm over his hand as he took up most of the space in the bed, their bed. It still felt as if she were a voyeur, spying on him in his most vulnerable state.

She smoothed her fingertips over his brow, wanting him to wake up as gently as possible, “Eomer,” she whispered quietly by his ear.

He groaned again, his breathing changing a little, almost sounding resigned to being awoken before he wanted to, his arm snaking back around her.

Lothiriel nestled closer to him, tracing her fingers over his cheek and his neck, her heart clenching in her chest, “Good morning,” she whispered.

The tired smile came over his lips before his eyes opened, “Morning.”

Never had she been overly fond of waking, or of early mornings, but she was not sure that she could sleep anymore, and she rested her chin on his chest, looking at her husband’s face.

His eyes moved behind the closed lids, clearly struggling to open his eyes fully, his hand smoothing over her bare back, mumbling something.

She chuckled, kissing his chest and nuzzling closer to him.

“Did you sleep well?” Eomer asked, trying again to make the words come.

“Well enough, even if you seemed hell bent on stopping me from doing so.”

He looked at her confused.

“You have tried to lay conquest to the entire expanse of the mattress, and the covers.”

Eomer smirked, settling back against the pillow, “I think we will both need to become more used to sharing a bed. I should hope in time, I would not suffer such violent blows to my face.”

She sat up a little, looking at him, “What?”

“You did not hit me with much force, but you toss quite fervently, and my jaw took the brunt of your hands,” he smirked, chuckling a little.

“Sorry,” she smiled, sitting up to wash her face and teeth, and try to start on the tangles in her hair to save Heohild the work that it would be.

Eomer’s arms twined about her waist, pulling her back, murmuring his grievances at her leaving, and grumbling what sounded like, “no, stay.” One of his hands, smoothed over her leg, and feeling the chill on her skin, he pulled the cover back over her.

“I am too warm,” she complained.

He grumbled something in reply, almost snoring against her shoulder as he settled back into comfort.

Lothiriel laughed, prying at his hands, “Let me go.” She laughed at the grumbling reply, his arms tightening, and his face burrowing into the black tangled cloud of her hair before pressing a few sweet kisses at the back of her neck. She smiled, biting her lip, “Eomer… the sun is up...”

His only reply was the gentle touches against her belly under the covers, and more kisses as he settled her back against his chest.

“Should I not go see to the keeping of the house?” she asked, teasingly.

“As king, I pardon you from such duties for the foreseeable future,” he said, his breath heavy with sleep.

When she was released from her husband’s amorous embrace, Lothiriel pulled a dressing gown on over her pink, flushed skin and settled in front of the mirror glad to be able to sit and not trust to her legs to carry her, taking her comb gently to her hair, and trying to smooth the volume down. The fuzzy reflection of Eomer in the mirror watching her, made her blush as she twisted her hair into a quick braid to try to manage the mass of her hair.

She watched him lay back, and stretch out on the linens, before settling back against the headboard languidly. She still blushed a little at his unabashed nakedness but had decided to do her best to act as if this was absolute in how unextraordinary it was, until it felt so, because it would be in time.

And in time, she might come to feel less aware of people looking at her. The looks were not by and large sly, but they were knowing. The visiting party took luncheon together in the hall, and Lothiriel, being unused to her newly married station, was a little embarrassed that every person knew what she had done the night before, and she wondered if they would shame her in some way for making love again that morning.

Her own shyness was thankfully not noted after Erchirion arrived for lunch, looking as if he has slept in a ditch.

“Brother, you should eat something,” Amrothos said, shocked enough to not be able to tease or make verbal sport of their hangdog sibling.

Erchirion rested his head on a table, grumbling out something as Lothiriel made a plate of meats and bread for him. He looked at the food, and paled.

“Do you need a bucket?” Lothiriel asked in a low voice, not wanting to humiliate him, but also deeply afraid that he would empty his stomach on the floor, or on her.

He shook his head, and picked at his food, “I hate mead. I will not stomach it again.”

She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, feeling pity for him, and wondering how much he had managed to drink to be left so badly off as that. She looked at Eomer, her face the image of sympathy broken by her struggle not to laugh at her brother.

0x0x0

“Let me be clear on this topic,” Eowyn said over her tea, “I will ask only that you answer a question, and then I want no further details of any sort, and I ask only out of the dear affection that I have for you, and the wish to be sure that you are pleased in your marriage.” Eowyn’s lips were pursed in her careful want to know absolutely nothing about her brother’s wedding night, “Were you pleased?”

Lothiriel tried to keep her smile in check, “He was adequate, I suppose.” Her face burned and she knew she must have been red as an apple.

“Only adequate?” Gadrien asked, her head tilted, “I will have your brother speak to His Majesty,” she smirked at the wide-eyed horror Lothiriel shot her.

Eowyn sighed, “Well, I have had enough tea,” she stood, “Will your Majesty take the air with me?” she asked Arwen, who for her part looked keen for the gossip of it.

The High Queen looked between the ladies, as if trying to decide whether to stay or go, and as she stood, Lothiriel wondered what the Elvish lady would say had she decided to say, “I am glad to hear that you are happy in your marriage,” she smiled at Lothiriel.

Gadrien raised a brow at Lothiriel, waiting to hear what was hiding behind the composed smile, “Well?”

“Well… he doesn’t seem to tire easily,” Lothiriel giggled.

“In a pleasant way I hope.”

“Yes,” Lothiriel affirmed, hiding her face in her saucer, “very pleasant.” She thought to tell Gadrien that there had been a moment of complete improperness before her wedding, since the incident could not hurt her reputation now, but she kept her mouth shut.

“I should expect that you would have much more to say,” Gadrien teased, leaning closer to the young bride, “for all your irritation that none of us would tell you anything.”

“Well, I see no reason to do so as you all know full well what would have transpired by now.”

“In time, you might come to feel comfortable speaking with other women, if you wish,” she gave a quick glance to ensure they were alone, before reaching into her sewing box and taking out a small book, “a wedding gift. Though I ask you do not tell anyone how you came by it.”

Lothiriel held the thin book, it was old and worn, and written in the common tongue. Her brow furrowed and she opened it, flipping through a few pages before a diagram caught her eye and she slammed the book shut, her eyes wide.

Gadrien laughed, and patted Lothiriel’s shoulder, “welcome to the company of married women, little sister.”

Smiling back, embarrassed, Lothiriel wondered if it was part of some initiation to such a company to be given a book of instruction, as if she were joining a skilled labor guild, or apprenticeship of some sort.


	20. Chapter 20

Over the next weeks, the royal visitors slowly left Edoras, and the homeowners took possession of their own houses again and were pleased to find them as clean as they had been when the guests had first come. Lothiriel was surprised that her father’s eye had been wet before he left for home, embracing her for a moment longer than was a simple courteous or expected, and she had cried, but only a little.

Adapting to her duties as mistress of the hall was not as trying as she had expected it to be, as it was not so different than the duties that she had held in Dol Amroth. The major tribulation was the mess of their ledgers, and she wondered at the mess of that Eowyn and Gredda had left behind for the next Queen. She knew more than well enough not to say anything about it to the wizened Keeper of the House. It took her a few days to sort through the pages and books, trying to make sense of them all, making a careful study of the ledgers that had come from the estate in Aldburg.

Eomer and she were to ride to the estate a few days after everyone had left to take some time together. And she was excited as she was to spend time with her husband away from the pressures of their new life, to see the countryside and away from the eyes of the courtiers. The court at Meduseld was easier on her nerves than their Gondorian counterparts, and she had always functioned best when she had a project in mind. Looking over the ledgers, she was concerned with the state the property at Aldburg was currently in, and she had decided to put her organizing skills to use. What was the purpose of owning land if you did not mean to improve it?

Eomer watched her loading up the ledgers, in a careful organization system, into her chest, “You do not seem to understand the purpose of this trip if you are bringing your work to occupy yourself.”

“I understand the idea of a honeymoon, but I can do more than one thing at a time, especially if we are to be there for a few weeks. I doubt your lords will respect the request that we be left alone and listen to your proxies.”

Eomer’s eyes narrowed on her face as he stood, towering over her, “Fine, but I will not be ignored for the sake of your papers,” he smirked and kissed her, resting his forehead on her, his smile softening as he stepped back from her.

She smiled, “You will have no need of jealousy. I mean only to look into the management of the land, especially since it is my morning gift, and I mean to ensure that it is yields well and is financially able to stand on its own merits.”

He laughed, settling on the bench at the end of the bed, which Lothiriel had put in place of his armor trunk, having moved that trunk to the armory where it belonged. His eyes smiled, watching Heohild at her work, helping his wife pack her simpler dresses. “I do not understand why you are repacking your things. Most of your possessions are still in trunks, anyhow.”

“Because,” Lothiriel said, trying to hold back her confusion at his complete lack of understanding of good sense, “I do not want to bring everything from any one crate.”

“Why do you need so many dresses?” he asked, teasing as he looked through the clothes.

Lothiriel shook her head at him, “I gave up most of the garments I owned before I moved here, so I do not want to hear it.”

Eomer picked up a burgundy gown with a long train, holding it up off the ground as he tried to come to terms with how and why a woman would wear something that was clearly a tripping hazard. It was a lovely gown, and he did like image in his mind of Lothiriel wearing it.

The women sorted through the crate of winter dresses looking for a few wool wraps in case the weather turned cold, and Heohild pulled out the book that Gadrien had given Lothiriel, and that she had quickly hidden out of fear of anyone ever finding it and then promptly forgotten that it existed. The maid looked at the cover, confused, her mouth opening to ask what it was. Lothiriel snatched it away and shoved it back in its hiding place, shooting Heohild a hard, careful look.

“This doesn’t seem safe,” Eomer said, blessedly unaware of the stare between his wife and her maid, “You could not possibly wear this if you had taken anything stronger than cider. You would certainly turn an ankle.”

Lothiriel smiled, “Do you have nothing better to do than comment on my wardrobe?”

“I do, but this is much more enjoyable,” he said, passing the gown to Heohild to put in another chest with more formal gowns in the dressing room.

“Then I will not safeguard you from your lords when they corner me and demand that I let you attend to affairs of state,” she pushed him gently toward the door.

He smiled, and stooped to kiss her, “Then I will go to work, but you must then save me whenever I need.”

“Of course. I will ride to your rescue. I will muster every spear in the kingdom, now get out and let me get my stuff settled, and get yourself back to work, you silly man,” she smiled, pushing him along, and closed the door.

Heohild waited until the door closed and then dug the book back out, “What is this? Is it a secret?”

“My brother’s wife gave it me, and I do not know how to get rid of the damn embarrassing thing,” Lothiriel said, blushing.

Heohild opened the book, her brow raised as her eyes scanned over a page, “I would not think that such a fine lady would…”

“I cannot imagine where she might even have gotten such a thing,”

Lothiriel held her hand out to take the book back, but Heohild didn’t take notice, flipping the page, and reading on, looking interested, her brow raising suddenly.

“What?” Lothiriel asked, coming to look over Heohild’s shoulder, nervous about what she would read.

Heohild closed the book, blushing as if she was embarrassed to her interest, “Oh, my lady I do not think that you should read anything so lurid as this. I will take it, to save you from the… the, uh, it is just disgusting.” Her face was far from convincing 

The queen laughed, “You are welcome to it, then. I do not think I will have any need of anything of the sort.”

0x0x0

The estate was in better shape than Lothiriel had expected, and it seemed that the people left in charge of the house had done well in their charge to maintain the structure. Halfred was the steward of the house, and Guthere was steward of the land, and while she could see that they had both done their best to keep an keen eye over the property, and she would give them credit to it, she would in time tell Guthere of the ideas she had to make the farm lands give a better yield. She was admittedly a little nervous that they might take offense at a newcomer telling them how to manage their business.

She looked over everything with a careful eye, commenting on the beauty of the woodwork, admiring the carving into the columns and eaves before politely leaving Eomer to the stewards to see to their effects. She would meet with them in a few days, and she would ask Eomer more questions than her husband wanted to answer. Though she was coming to think that he found pride in her detail-oriented mind.

Eomer had written ahead of their coming, and Lothiriel smiled at the spread on the table that was brought. The servants in the hall stared at her, and she wondered if having a queen made them uncomfortable. They all knew Eomer from childhood, and he did not seem to notice that anyone else looked at her at all, his own eyes barely leaving her.

The second morning, she went out with him to the fields outside of the house, and Lothiriel looked over the expanse of grass, mapping in her mind what the expanses of the land she owned were and mapping out potential farms in even plots.

“Are you contented?” Eomer asked, close beside her.

“Yes. Why would you think that you would need to ask that?”

“You have been quiet since we came here,” he tugged on her hand, pulling her to stop and look at him, “and I have been hoping that there is not some discontent, and if there is, I would hope to remedy it.”

She smiled, “I am only thinking about where we could extend the farmlands.”

Eomer let out a breath, smiling a little, at her, “that would be beneficial, as it would put more grain into our stores if the winter is hard.”

“Just so!” she grinned, “and even more than that, we would be able to trade more, which could extend our treasury. If we tend to this property and are able to ensure the farms in the Westfold are properly tended, we could give Rohan power beyond just military strength.” She looked up at her husband, and at her king, far more excited about the prospect that she ought to. He was looking at her without anything beyond adoration. She pressed close to him, looking down a moment, then back up at him, and letting his hands finding her hips, and gently moving around her.

She bit her lip as he leaned down to kiss her, and she tore from his embrace and ran across the open land, looking back over her shoulder to ensure he was coming after her, laughing as she hitched her skirts up as she ran. The wide expanse of the fields stretched beyond her, full of the promise of her new reign. Eomer caught her in his arms, and taking her down in the grass, his face shining with glee as he looked at her, leaning down to close the space between them, and kissing his wife. She slid her arms around his neck feeling so happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments. The support of my readers means so much to me!  
> I should have another story up soon!


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